Fame: What You Get Is No Tomorrow
by Maxie Kay
Summary: COMPLETE. Alt take on S1 ep Fame. After her brief but passionate encounter with Marty Deeks, Kensi is stunned to learn he's joined NCIS. She can't stop fantasising about him & he's got a similar problem. Sequel to Like a Hurricane, part of my K/D univers
1. Chapter 1

**Fame: What You Get Is No Tomorrow**

An NCIS: Los Angeles Fanfiction

_This story is loosely based on the NCIS: Los Angeles episode Fame, but with the added attraction of some gratuitous hot Kensi/Deeks action and starts immediately after the events depicted in __**Like A Hurricane**__ , which I recommend you read first. There are adult themes, so consider yourself warned. I might even work in a maim, if I feel so inclined. Which I usually do, as loyal readers can attest._

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><p>It was after two a.m. when Kensi finally turned the key and let herself into her small, messy apartment. She walked throught the normal disorganised chaos of her living room and into the bedroom which was even worse, with clothes strewn across the bed and falling onto the floor while hair paraphernalia and makeup littered almost every surface and let out a deep sigh as she surveyed at the clutter of her life. Nobody who saw her outside the apartment, hair perfect, clothes just so, would ever believe she was such a disorganised slut behind closed doors. Unless they'd been in the club tonight and had seen her sneak off with Marty Deeks and have raw, passionate sex in a corridor.<p>

_What the hell was I thinking? Letting myself be swayed by a pretty face. And a pretty damned incredible body. Okay, I wasn't thinking. Not with my head anyway._

Kensi pulled off the body-con dress that highlighted her figure to its best advantage and stared at herself in the mirror, noting the messy hair, the smudged eyeliner and the way her lips were still puffy from his kisses. Yup, she looked like she just been laid and no mistake about it. She could still feel the soft rasp of his stubble on her skin, and sure enough, there were patches of red on her neck. Turning around, Kensi looked at her ass, and exclaimed in horror when she saw the imprint of his fingers as he'd pulled her closer to him. Shit, she'd be bruised in the morning. Correction: make that later in the morning. If she was lucky, she might just catch five hours sleep before she had to report for work at the Mission by nine thirty.

She washed her face cursorily, not bothering that half her makeup came off on the hand-towel. There was no-one to see it anyway. And it would wash out. Hopefully. When she got around to throwing a load in machine, which was normally only when she realised she didn't have a single thing to wear. Kensi tossed the offending towel into a corner and pulled on an old t-shirt before padding back through to her bedroom, collapsing into bed and willing sleep to come. And , of course, sleep was elusive. Kensi lay staring up at the ceiling and suddenly that she could still smell Marty Deeks: that salty-sweet aroma she'd noticed right from the start, like a mixture of sea air, sunshine and the powdered sugar you get on donuts. Sleep had never seemed further away as she relived the feel of his lips, the way his tongue had invaded her mouth and the sensations his fingers had evoked from her body. And just thinking about it brought it all back and she ached with longing.

_What is it about him that's bored its way into my mind? Why can't I stop thinking about him and the way he felt when he moved inside me? _

Her hand slid down the smooth skin of her belly, rested for a moment in the soft curls and then crept between her thighs, as the thoughts of him filled her mind. It wasn't anything like as good as when he had touched her, but it was the best she could manage, under the circumstances. Kensi let her mind slip into a fantasy where she had Deeks exactly where she wanted him and made him do everything she said. The thought of having him completely under her control was really rather erotic and it didn't take long for her to climax. It was quite satisfying, in a lonely sort of way, but not a patch on the real thing. And after that, when Kensi eventually curled up and slipped her hand under her cheek, that familiar salty-sweet smell was even more intense, as if he was all over her skin and for a moment she almost could have wept at the memory of good he had felt and how alone she was right now.

_At least I had one night and a whole load of memories to keep me going. It's almost a pity I'll never see him again. It could have been fun._

At the end of the day, which this definitely was, Marty Deeks was only a man. And she'd had a whole lot of men before and no doubt she'd have a whole heap more in the future. It had only been sex, after all. Nothing more than that and there was nothing special about him. Absolutely nothing special at all. And Kensi thought that if she told herself that enough times, she might even begin to believe it.

Of course, Kensi forgot to set the alarm on her cell phone, so it was a complete rush to get ready and out of the house on time. And then all the traffic signals were against her, so she barely made it in by the skin of her teeth. Callen and Sam always seemed to have some sort of weird sixth sense as far as her love life was concerned. Or maybe that should be her sex life, seeing love was the last thing Kensi wanted right now – or possibly at any stage in the future, Jack having put her off all that commitment crap for good. She was never going to let another man have that sort of hold over her – it only lead to pain and sorrow and she was so over that. Anyway, whenever Kensi scored some action, those two always seemed to know about it. Realising she would ever hear the end of it if they ever discovered she'd been with Deeks last night, Kensi cravenly snuck up the back stairs and entered the sanctuary of Ops. Eric was so clueless about anything other than his beloved computers, with the possible exception of surfing, that he probably never even gave her private life a passing thought. Which was kind of a pity, seeing he had the same kind of vibe as Deeks going on, only considerably less hot and a whole lot more geeky. Kensi reckoned she'd be safe from prying eyes there.

"Have you heard the latest?" Eric's eyes gleamed behind his glasses, which somehow missed being retro and just looked kind of old-fashioned, Kensi thought. "That guy from LAPD's joining us."

"Deeks?" Kensi was aware her voice had risen at least two octaves. She certainly hadn't been expecting that. Usually when Eric said he had some juicy piece of information, it turned out to be some new piece of computer hardware, which didn't exactly ring her bell. Not like this. "Are you sure?" Her fingers dug painfully into her forearm.

"Positive." Eric pulled his arm free. "Hetty said that he was joining NCIS as our liaison with LAPD."

Shit. It all came back to her: that knowing smile – or should that be smirk? –on his face last night. The way he'd said he would see her around. The cunning bastard had known about this all along and he'd played her for a complete fool. Kensi squirmed uncomfortably on her chair and instantly regretted it as the bruises on her butt made their presence felt. "Deeks? Is that the best they could do?"

"That was the best they could do," a familiar voice said. "Morning Kensi." Marty Deeks gave her a peculiarly sweet smile as he ambled into the room. "It's nice to see you again."

She could have sworn there was a knowing edge to his voice, but when she looked up at him, all Kensi could see was a brilliantly blue pair of eyes and the hottest piece of ass she'd ever laid eyes on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Fame Makes A Man Take Things Over**

_This time, we see things from Marty's point of view…_

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><p>As apartments went, this one was pretty decent, Marty Deeks thought, certainly in a different league to the dive he'd occupied as Max Gentry. That had been verging on the squalid and looked like it had been furnished with assorted remnants even the Salvation Army would have rejected. He wasn't normally that bothered about where he stayed, as long as it was within reach of the beach and had enough room for at least a couple of his boards. Other than that, it was pretty much just somewhere to crash. On paper, this apartment was perfect – one bedroom, large living area, wet-room and only two blocks from the ocean. And it had even been available at short notice. But it just wasn't him – the ultra-modern, monochromatic décor was high on gadgetry and low on comfort and the mirror above the bed was over the top, even by his standards.<p>

Marty flopped down on the bed and lay there, staring up at his reflection and wondering what the hell he'd got himself into. Messing around with Kensi earlier that evening wasn't the smartest thing he'd ever done, but it had been so sweet. She wanted to come across as some sort of ball-breaker, but it had taken little more than a slow dance and a provocative look to get her into that corridor and then he'd had her exactly where he wanted her. Literally. And the sex hadn't been bad either. Considerably better than he'd thought it would be, to be honest. A bit rough and ready, but then knee-tremblers were like that by definition. Next though, next time it would be different. Next time, Kensi would be begging him to let her come and, if she was very lucky, Marty thought he might even make her meow – but only if he wanted her to. Because the next time, things would be on his terms. And there would definitely be a next time. Sure, she'd hate him for a while, but she'd come around. Of that Marty had no doubt: he'd seen the look in her eyes when she thought he wasn't looking, he'd brought her to orgasm with just a few thrusts. Kensi Blye really didn't know what she had started. He gazed up at himself in the mirror and wondered why he was so obsessed with the woman. She wasn't that great looking after all, and she had these unsettling eyes, but there was something about the way Kensi looked at him with such raw longing that it was unsettling. Whatever the reason, she stayed in his memory and wouldn't let go. But he wasn't obsessed with her. Of course he wasn't.

It was a real effort to drag himself out of bed at sunrise, but Marty knew the ocean would clear his head and the moment his feet plunged into the freezing cold water he was instantly awake. Thirty minutes later, he was shivering with a mixture of cold and adrenaline and looking forward to the day ahead. This was going to be fun. He'd never felt quite so pumped-up at the thought of starting a new job before.

They hadn't exactly bothered to put on a welcoming committee at the Mission though and that rather dampened his enthusiasm. He stood for a second, taking his bearings and waiting for someone – anyone – to say hi, or even just nod in his general direction, but eventually just located an empty desk and sat down, while Callen and Sam had this surreal conversation with a tall, gangly man who seemed obsessed with his non-existent muscles, particularly his gluteus maximum. From what Deeks could see, they required one heck of a lot of work. And as he was sitting there, wondering what the hell he'd got himself into, Sam started to act like he was back at school. Clearly, he'd been the school bully, and was accustomed to getting his own way. But this was just pathetic – getting all bent out of shape because Deeks was sitting at some lousy empty desk. You would think the last person to sit there was Abe Lincoln, just before he got himself assassinated the way Sam was going on.

Marty managed to not to come back with some smart-ass retort, because that would just be childish. Not that arguing over an empty desk was exactly mature behaviour, but hell, it was his first day here and he really didn't need to descend to the level of the playground. Not right away: there would be plenty of time for that later. And then Hetty No-Name materialised, like some miniature Ninja and basically sorted things out. It was hard for Marty not to laugh at the expression on Sam's face, which was a pleasing mixture of complete and utter disbelief and horror. Callen had the decency to make a genuine effort, but he didn't exactly seem thrilled by the whole affair. Marty was just eyeing up the coffee pot and wondering if the NCIS brew had improved any – the last batch had tasted as if someone had accidentally left a pan scourer in the bottom, when there was a call to action. Literally. By some guy who looked like a cross between a surfer and a yeti-hunter from Tibet. Oh boy, things were getting stranger by the second.

Sadly, news of his arrival had preceeded him, because the first thing Marty heard when he entered the Ops room was Kensi's horrified voice saying "Deeks? Was that the best they could do?" 'd been banking on the element of surprise.

"That was the best they could do," he confirmed and gave her a winning smile, the one that always won over old ladies in coffee shops, who would insist Marty should go ahead of them and would whisper in piercing tones about how much he reminded them of their grandsons. "Morning, Kensi. It's nice to see you again." Oh yes, he knew how to be charming. She went bright red at that and it reminded Marty of how her face had flushed when she reached her climax just a few hours ago and how she'd contracted and shuddered against him. And for some strange reason, seeing her sitting there, fully clothed and looked incredibly embarrassed was the biggest turn on he'd had in months. And the fact that her eyes remained glued on his ass was pretty damned erotic too.

_You've got it bad, haven't you Kensi? And you're wondering if I'm going to say anything and half of you is hoping I will and the other half is praying I won't. And maybe I'll just keep you guessing for a while._

Trying very hard not to smirk, Marty forced his attention onto the briefing. It was strangely satisfying to be able to give these guys a few clues that he wasn't exactly a complete novice at this whole game, but he sensed he was going to have an uphill struggle before they would accept him. But that was okay, he was pretty much used to being an outsider. In a lot of ways, that made easier to go undercover, to pretend to be someone else – there weren't that many ties from his real life he had to discard. Only sometimes, when he'd had one too many drinks, he would sit on the beach at night and watch the waves roll in and crash on the shore and wonder if there was something he was missing.

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><p><em>Anyone sense there might be some fireworks ahead for Kensi and Marty? Randy plot bunny says they should stop thinking about sex and just get on with it. I told him to go and sit in the corner and stop being so rude. They'll get around to it when they're good and ready. Some things can't be rushed.<em>


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: Fame: What You Like Is In The Limo**

_In the interests of fair and equal disclosure, let's see how Kensi feels about things. Turn and turn about. She's got it bad… and who can blame her? _

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><p>There was a dead body – but then that wasn't exactly unusual. Kensi had lost track of how many she'd seen, all with their own sad stories to tell. The only thing that made this particular case different from all the others was that Hetty had insisted she and Deeks had to work together. Some mad idea about him being their liaison with LAPD. Well, what a piece of bull that was. There was no precedent for such a creature and they'd always managed perfectly well before. They didn't need Deeks. She didn't need Deeks. She especially didn't need Deeks trying to tell her how to do her job. He was the newbie here and he'd better remember that.<p>

Kensi was trying not to take it all personally, but it was hard not to feel that Hetty was personally criticising the way she had conducted investigations in the past, and that hurt. And how come the police had been so willing to let Deeks go? It was a fair bet he hadn't been very good at his job, otherwise they'd have screamed blue murder. Great. She was paired with the LAPD reject. It would have made more sense to put her with either Sam or Callen, but nobody in their right mind was going to split up the dream team. So that just left her, Kensi Blye, to draw the short straw. Fantastic. Could this day get any worse? Well, yes it could. Kensi realised she now had a thumping headache that reminded her of just how much she'd drunk last night every single time she blinked.

Hetty might have paired her with the new guy, but Kensi was damned if she was going to call him her partner. And there was no way he was going to drive. No way on God's green earth. She made that clear right from the start, and amazingly he accepted the passenger seat without complaining, or even saying a single word, even if there was a suspicion of a pout. Callen was being his normal diplomatic self and refusing to take sides, but Sam, God bless his cotton socks, was clearly unimpressed with Deeks and was making no bones about it. But, to be fair, Kensi did think that calling him "Temp" was maybe going a bit far. Only Deeks didn't flare up like she'd expected him to, he just laughed it off, and for a moment, that threw her, until she realised that she was still expecting him to react like Jason, the would-be fighter, who challenged everything. It was an intriguing contrast in personalities – pugnacious versus laid-back to the point of being virtually horizontal, and Kensi wasn't quite sure which one was the real Marty Deeks. Maybe neither of them were, of course. Maybe he got his kicks out of assuming different personalities? She wondered just how successful he'd been as an undercover cop and resolved to get Eric to access his records. It was always useful to have as much information as possible, because you never knew when it would come in handy.

It really bugged her the way Deeks just sat there silently in the passenger seat and didn't say a single word about last night during the whole journey. It was almost as if he was taunting her with his silence and there was no way Kensi was going to bring the subject up first. No way at all. She'd bite her tongue so hard it would be flapping around aimlessly in her mouth before she gave him that satisfaction. He thought he was so cool that he could just crook his little finger and she'd come running, did he? Well, he'd learn to think differently. The fastest she'd move would be a slow jog. Probably. It was always a good idea to keep your options open.

There was no mistaking Deeks' reluctance to engage with the LAPD guys when they arrived at the scene, and for a moment Kensi thought that Sam was going to reach into the car and drag him out by the scruff of his neck – or by his hair. Sam really didn't like Deeks' hair, but even though she wouldn't trust the guy as far as she could throw him, Kensi still kept thinking about how all-fired great his hair was, especially the way it just invited you to run your fingers through it. Which was probably a deliberate ploy on his part. It was a fair bet that he spent hours in front of the mirror, carefully arranging that dishevelled look to utter perfection. He probably used hairspray too. She really wouldn't put anything past Marty Deeks.

"I feel like a mother sending my kid off to school for the first time," Kensi confessed as she watched Deeks trudge wearily over to the crime scene, the words flying out of her mouth before she had a chance to think about them. Sam shot her an incredulous look while Callen manfully repressed a smirk. It was barely ten seconds before Deeks turned around, clearly unsuccessful and muttering something about having pissed a lot of people off. Well, that wasn't exactly a surprise: he'd managed to piss off both Sam and herself just by existing, and if Callen wasn't such all-round nice guy, he'd be right there pushing Deeks into the corner marked "surplus to requirements".

"You want me to see if I can talk them into handing this over to us?" Kensi suggested, desperate to show him how good she really was, especially after the appalling job she'd done of handling things in the last case

Deeks just shrugged, like he wasn't really bothered and that was like an open invitation for Kensi to do her stuff. She sashayed over to the cops, smiled up at them and had hardly opened her mouth before they were agreeing that NCIS could take over, with big smiles on their faces. She was slightly surprised at how easy it all was, but then she was damned good at her job. Kensi just hoped that Deeks was watching and was suitably impressed. You either had it or you didn't. For a liaison officer he'd failed the first test spectacularly badly. Not that it seemed to bother him in the slightest, he just got on with the business of examining the car.

_Oh my God. How cool do his hands look in those black latex gloves? Why have I never noticed how incredibly sexy they are before today? Or are they only sexy because he's wearing them? How cool would he look, just wearing those gloves and nothing else at all! Oh my God. I'm losing control of my rational thoughts. I'm actually standing here fantasising about Deeks naked, at a crime scene. And that's just made things worse. Now I'm imagining him naked, right here and now._

Kensi managed to pull her thoughts back to reality and just hoped she wasn't as red as a beet. Damn the man for distracting her like that, when she was here to do a job. She snuck a look at Sam's hands and then Callen's and felt nothing at all. No, it definitely wasn't the gloves. It was the combination of Deeks **and** the gloves that was sexy. Bugger.

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><p><em>In the interests of complete honesty, I will readily admit that I too am partial to the sight of Deeks in those black gloves. Very tasty indeed.<em>

_Hope you're enjoying this glimpse into how their minds work and seeing things from two different angles. So – why not press that review button and let me know what you think? Go on – make my day… and I might even put in some real "action"._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: Fame: Bully for You**

_So, what exactly did Marty Deeks think of the NCIS team? And just what games were going on?_

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><p>Well, Sam had laid his cards on the table early on and he wasn't going to let up, Marty thought. Clearly annoyed that his "Temp" jibe had barely registered on the radar (and really, did the guy think he was going to rise to such a pathetic attempt at name-calling?) Sam was now mangling the English language, trying to insist that there was no such word as "liaise". Marty made a mental note to leave a dictionary on Sam's desk at the earliest opportunity, with a post-it note marking the relevant entry. Clearly grammar wasn't important in the world of NICS and it was a real effort not to snap back with "I am a liaison. My job is to liaise. When I do this, I am liaising. Noun, verb (infinitive), present participle." But that would have been petty. There were better ways to prove a point. Like just keeping his smart mouth shut. That had worked particularly well with Kensi on the drive over. She'd kept giving him all these little sideways glances, just waiting for him to say something about last night. As if.<p>

Marty knew the two detectives at the crime scene instantly, they were both decent guys and he'd worked a few cases with them. It was time to have a little fun and maybe even play with Sam's mind a bit, as well as letting Kensi feel good about herself. She needed that for sure, after the way she'd bungled the whole Blood and Guts Warriors affair, first of all wrongly pinning him as the main suspect and managing to miss all the glaring holes in the lamest cover story LAPD had ever put together, and then being so damned inept when he encountered her in the house that even a rookie should have sussed out she was lying her pretty little head off, far less a guy with his experience. No wonder Hetty had withdrawn her to the sidelines after that, where she couldn't do any more damage. Truth be told, Marty wasn't too keen on being partnered with someone he had no confidence in and was beginning to think was a distinct liability. Even if she did have a great ass. How could he possibly trust her to protect his back? And Kensi thought she'd drawn the short straw? That overheard remark had seriously hacked him off. Somebody needed to give Ms Blye a realistic performance appraisal and bring her down a few pegs. And then maybe suggest that while she looked great in tight jeans, they might just hamper her ability to do anything remotely athletic, like chasing a suspect.

But right now, Marty just wanted to have a little fun. They thought he was useless – well, they were about to be proved right. You had to give the audience what they expected, after all. Making a huge show of being reluctant, he mooched over to the detectives. "Guys, do me a favour and act pissed. And when the NCIS chick comes over and tries to charm you, just fall for it?"

"Only if you buy the first round on Friday, Deeks."

"Deal."

Oh God, this was sweet, watching Kensi doing her man-killer routine with Banks and Renwick, who was possibly the campest man in the whole of the LAPD, and coming back wreathed in smiles, thinking she'd scored a touchdown. And she didn't have a clue she just been punk'd. It was so beautiful and it made the whole day seem so much better. He felt good, she felt good – it was a win-win situation.

Marty's overall impression of the NCIS team wasn't exactly bolstered when they only gave the body a cursory examination and completely failed to spot the stamp inside the guy's right wrist, actually walking away until he pointed it out. Did these guys know nothing about scene of crime techniques? And how could anyone under the age of seventy not have heard of _Balm?_ It was only the hottest nightclub in town, for crying out loud. Marty was beginning to think these guys lived in some alternate universe. Sure, they had all the latest technology and those cute, matching watches and they even had fancy black latex gloves instead of the standard issue ones, presumably they were more in keeping with the ultra-hip NCIS image, but none of that even started to make up for their elementary lack of local knowledge. By now Marty was seriously beginning to regret his decision to take Hetty up on her offer. Not that he'd exactly had a lot of choice in the matter. For a small lady, she had an oversize personality.

Once the very definitely deceased Brian Roth was removed from the scene, Kensi did manage to find a purse and a pair of shoes inside the car, but then they weren't exactly difficult to spot. And when Marty pointed out the scrap of material fluttering in the breeze that was an exact match to the dress Aubrey Darva, socialite-extraordinaire and owner of the self-same car, had been papped in last night, even Sam seemed impressed. Oh boy, this was not filling him with confidence. This was basic stuff. And why did Kensi keep stealing covert glances at his hands? Marty was getting seriously concerned. What was wrong with the woman? Had he just made the biggest mistake of his life? How soon could he get out of this whole sorry affair?

Not soon enough, it appeared. Not before he had the pleasure of another silent journey with Ms Kensi Blye, this time to the Darva house. She appeared genuinely impressed that he knew details of Aubrey and her family. Didn't these people ever read the financial papers? Or even watch a little TV? How could they possibly be so divorced from reality and still live and work in LA? But it was kind of cute the way Kensi was so impressed by the Darva house and especially by the pool, which was impressive, in an ostentatious "look at how much money I have" kind of way.

"I wouldn't mind having my latte out here in morning," Marty offered in a conversational tone. The tranquil scene reminded him that it had been several weeks since he'd visited his own place out in Malibu. And it also reminded him that it had been several hours since he'd replenished his own caffeine levels. Sadly, it never occurred to Aubrey's step-father to offer them any refreshments, which was a pity because from the delicious aroma coming from his coffee cup, only the very best Blue Mountain beans were served in the Darva household. And by now he really needed something to cheer himself up with. Once they had established that Aubrey Darva was officially missing, there was nothing else for it but to head back to the Mission. Luckily, Kensi needed a comfort break, so Deeks was able to get a half-way decent coffee while she visited the rest-room.

So far the only lead they had on Aubrey was _Balm_ nightclub, and it just so happened that Marty had a contact there. One he'd spent months cultivating, at no little personal cost. "Kensi I can get in, because she's hot." Marty flashed a grin at her, instantly seeing how pleased she was the compliment, even if she tried to look pissed at him. Someone really needed to take Kensi aside and give her some basic lessons in acting. Having said that, preferably not before he played her at strip poker, and maybe even let her win the first couple of rounds. "No offense, Kensi." As if.

Marty looked across at Callen. "You're only going to get in if you've got money. Lots of money." He liked the guy and Callen had a killer reputation, but there were limits and if you weren't young, female and nubile, the only way you could get into _Balm_ was purely down to economics. Because even Marty Deeks couldn't work miracles at short notice.

"Why don't you ask Hetty? It's your idea, after all." Callen put it politely but Marty could see a gauntlet being thrown down, or even smacked across his face. This was clearly a test. Okay, he'd take the bait. Hetty listened patiently as he made his pitch.

"That's unusually formal language, Mr Deeks."

_Well, Miss Lang, there's just something about you being so flipping correct all the time that inspires a healthy terror in me. Along with that flick knife you pretend is a letter opener. And how come, if you want to be known as Hetty, do you insist on using surnames all the time? Isn't that just ever so slightly inconsistent?_

"We'll need a lot of credit." Marty looked at the first card she offered, shook his head emphatically, gave a discrete cough and gestured behind him, where he just knew the others were rubber-necking. And Hetty, God bless her soul (if she had one, which he seriously doubted) came up trumps and gave him something with a much better credit limit. Not great, but it would do. Marty was quite sure of this, because it he had a similar card in his wallet, which he kept just in case he needed some extra hard cash in a hurry. The serious cards he kept locked away securely in the safe back in Malibu.

"You want me to sign for this?"

_In blood, perhaps? Or maybe a pound of flesh would be more to your taste?_

Hetty gave one of her trademark enigmatic smiles. Marty decided not to push his luck any further. There was no way he would ever play poker with her. That was a given. Especially not strip poker. Other than her forceful personality, which pretty much guaranteed that Hetty got whatever she wanted, it was hard to get a measure of the woman, but even so, Marty wasn't prepared for the weirdness of her dragging poor old Callen over to her wardrobe area and make him stand there while she held up various truly awful shirts and assessed their impact. No way was she **ever** going to make him stand for that. The last woman who had dressed Marty Deeks with his mother and she'd stopped doing that by the time he was about eight.

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><p><em>Hmm - Kensi and Marty playing strip poker- now there's an image to tantalise the senses. But I am not going there with Hetty. No way.<em>


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five: Fame: Got To Get A Rain Check On Pain**

_Warning: randy plot bunny is looking awfully pleased with himself. But then it is night time, which is when he comes out to play…_

Okay, one of the really great things about working in NCIS was the clothes. No doubt about it. Kensi looked at herself in the mirror and looked again, this time more closely. Yup, the dress was hot. More precisely, she was hot. Elegant, but hot. And the boots! Wow, they were cute. They added an edge to the whole outfit. She was going out there tonight and she was going to kick some serious ass. And Callen didn't look half bad too, but then he always scrubbed up nicely. Of course, it remained to be seen what Deeks would turn up in. She seriously doubted if he owned a pair of smart pants. Just wait until Hetty got her hands on him and reformed his wardrobe. Kensi would have to make sure was around to watch that particular performance. She might even take some photos. It was just a pity she couldn't remember if he wore boxers or briefs. That hadn't exactly been on her mind last night, given the circumstances. Of course, there was a distinct possibility that he went commando. Kensi wouldn't put anything past Marty Deeks. She wondered how she could possibly find out.

There was a long queue outside the club, but they ignored that and sashayed right up to the doorman. And surprise, surprise – Deeks had fouled up big time (again) and their names weren't on the guest list. Couldn't that guy do anything right? He'd been bragging about all his cool connections but when it came to actually producing the goods, he was a big fat zero. Just wait until she got her hands round his scruffy, unshaven neck: she'd push him right into the wall and then she'd kiss him so hard he'd wonder if his tonsils were still in place. Who the hell did he think he was, messing around like this? Just because he'd just about blown her brains out last night certainly didn't give Deeks the right to screw her around like this – this was different. This was work. And last night had been… fun? Memorable? Something to be repeated? All of the above?

Kensi was still mulling over the possibilities when Deeks sauntered up, wearing some strange pullover that was tasteless, but had probably cost a fortune and a pair of pants made of some light woollen material that clung lovingly to his crotch in a way that was almost obscenely attractive. And suddenly it was a different story: it was like the doorman couldn't do enough for Deeks and the barrier was lifted as if by magic. And as they walked in to the club, the only thing Kensi could think about was what an amazing butt Deeks had and how she'd love to cup each cheek in her hands and squeeze hard. God, wouldn't it be amazing to see his reaction then? Maybe that might blast him out of whatever cool persona he was currently inhabiting. And it would be sweet revenge, because her own butt had ached every time she'd sat down. His finger-marks were now a deep purple colour and it was as if she'd been branded by him.

Only it turned out Deeks' cover name was Tim. How could you possibly be cool **and** be called Tim? Weren't the two things mutually exclusive? Clearly somebody must have given Deeks a load of cash to flash around in his previous visits, judging by the warm welcome he was getting from everyone. What other possible reason could there be? Even if he had actually made an effort and brushed his hair for once, it was a logical impossibility that someone called Tim could be hot. Why the hell had Deeks chosen that name for a cover and what on earth did it say about him? Talk about an instant passion-killer.

And while he and Callen were making like two rich guys with cash to burn, Kensi set to work scanning the club for the elusive Aubrey Darva, clocking her almost instantly. Okay, it was time to see just how good Deeks was when push came to shove. He'd failed the first two tests they'd given him today, and if he cocked up a third time, that was it. Kensi would smack him into the middle of next week and when he was lying flat on his back in the middle of this elite club, then she'd straddle his hips and damned well make him kiss her. That would show him who was boss.

Only he actually did quite well, even if he did call her Fern (again). What was it with Deeks and these awful names? Surely even he must know that only hookers were called Fern? But his louche act did the trick: he was suitably annoying and if Kensi managed to restrain herself from kneeing him in the groin just to make a point, it was only because she didn't want to risk blowing the mission. It had nothing at all to do with the fact that she could still remember the amazing sensation of holding him in her hand last night, the silky soft feel of him, and the involuntary moan he'd given. It certainly had nothing to do with the fact Kensi could remember just how big he was and how good he felt and that she didn't want to rule out the possibility of another encounter.

Anyway, Deeks did enough so that Kensi was able to get into a conversation with Aubrey, and allow him to walk away with his equipment still in full working order. It was easy to chat to her about how awful men were and then subtly drop in the fact that she was trying to be clean and sober. Sure enough, that got the girl's attention. Mr Darva had been right when he said his stepdaughter was trying to be clean and sober. And she actually seemed to be a genuinely nice person. Kensi found herself being drawn to Aubrey and was seriously beginning to doubt that she had anything to do with either the robberies or the death of Brian Roth. But then the way she kept getting distracted by these thoughts about Marty Deeks, Kensi wasn't entirely sure if she was actually capable of rational thought any more.

And then all hell broke loose as some goon tried to mess around with Aubrey, and Kensi was forced to break her cover. And all the while she was laying into him, she kept thinking about how she would really like it to be Marty Deeks, with his smug smile, and his annoying wonderful hair and his fabulous body that drove her to distraction that she was hitting. And how afterwards she would kiss each and every bruise and mark on his body very, very slowly until he was moaning in pleasure and just about to burst with expectation.

_Hmm – Kensi wants to maim Marty now – should I let her?_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six: Fame: "It's Mine" Is Just His Line**

_The day from hell at work. Put it this way, I am now seriously reconsidering my career. So I needed some distraction…_

Last night Kensi had been wearing an amazing dress, but tonight she was wearing a downright incredible dress. It barely skimmed her crotch and made her legs look as if they went all the way up to heaven. Marty found himself wondering if she wearing panties underneath and, if so, what colour they were. With most women, he would have placed good money on them being either nude or black, but given what little he knew of Kensi so far, he'd learned to expect the unexpected. Right now nothing would have surprised him, so maybe the smart money would be on red silk? But whatever she did or did not have on underneath, there was no denying she looked amazing.

"God, I love this job!" he exclaimed, and a good part of his joy was down to the fact that it gave him the chance to be out here tonight in the hottest club in town with her in that dress she was almost wearing. Not that Marty would ever admit that – one sign of weakness on his part and Kensi would have his guts for garters. Literally, if the scuttle-butt going around the LAPD was true. Rumour had it that Kensi Marie Blye had worked quite a swathe through the boys in blue at one time or another. Maybe he should pull that uniform out of the back of his closet and try it on for size some time?

"Been here before, have you?" Kensi asked as Sapphire kissed him enthusiastically.

Given that Sapphire was the club hostess and probably would have French kissed a crocodile as long as he had enough money, that was sort of stating the obvious. But Marty was aware of a certain dangerous glint in Kensi's eyes that looked awfully like the old green-eyed monster and he decided he'd give her an easy ride.

"I've been here a few times before, under cover."

"Hers?"

Okay, that nailed it. It was a pretty funny remark, but it also showed that Kensi was jealous. It couldn't have been any more obvious unless she'd actually come right out and said it aloud, and for some reason that made Marty feel pretty damned good, even if he couldn't figure out why. It wasn't as if he cared about Kensi. Because he didn't. Why would he possibly care about someone who tried to demean him at every single opportunity she could find. Even if she did look so fantastic. At the end of the day, she meant nothing to him. It was pure animal attraction, nothing more. The sex had been amazing. He couldn't stop thinking about how good it had been – how good she had been.

"You're like a bull, you just charge right on in there, don't you, Kensi?" Marty said, trying to soften the remark with a smile. Only because she was so damned hot in that tiny dress. Not because he didn't want to hurt her feelings. Why would he give a flying rat's ass about how she felt? Except that he kept remembering the feeling of holding her in his arms and discovering she wasn't wearing any underwear and how thrilling that had been. Only that was completely different and there was no reason that image should have popped into his mind. Because at the end of the day, he could walk away from all this and certainly not even give Kensi a backwards glance. Still, it was kind of fun pretending to make out with her as Aubrey Darva walked past, leaning so close to his "partner" that he could smell the perfume on her neck. And it was only because he really couldn't be bothered that Marty was able to resist the temptation to run his tongue around the rim of Kensi's ear. And anyway, it wouldn't have been professional to distract Kensi when she had a job of work to do, namely finding out more about Aubrey Darva and trying to work out what was going on in this case.

Actually, he had to admit that Kensi was really rather impressive at the way she got Aubrey to open up. They could hear the conversation between the two women and Kensi was good, Marty realised. Of course, Callen had to start messing around once he found out the price of a bottle of champagne at _Balm_ (clearly the poor guy never got out much or he was still working on last millenium's prices) and the spending limit Hetty had imposed. Marty felt he had to play along and pretend to be worried about the whole thing, even though he still thought that a night out where he only spent $5000 was kind of a bargain. But at least Callen was good-natured about it all, there was a sense of fun about the guy, totally without malice. Marty didn't think he could say the same thing about Sam – he sensed some real aggression there.

"Guys – we've got a problem." Kensi's voice was tense. "Some goon's just grabbed Aubrey."

"Stay with her, Kensi and don't break cover," Callen commanded, just as the unmistakable sounds of a fight came over their hi-tech earpieces. "She's kicking ass!" Despite himself, Callen could not resist smiling. "I almost feel sorry for the guy."

"Dammit!" Marty knew that particular tone of her voice only too well by now: Kensi was seriously pissed. "I had to break cover and now I've lost Aubrey."

Well, these things happened – the important thing was that you reacted appropriately and tried to retrieve the situation. Marty and Callen went their separate ways into the heart of the club, scanning the whole scene.

"Got her! Go over to the south stairwell, Deeks."

And this was the kind of situation that every undercover cop dreaded: the victim being held at gunpoint in a crowded venue, with at least a couple of hundred people standing around. This was just about as bad as it got. Callen drew the gunman's attention while Marty got into the perfect position – right behind, way off his radar. The guy didn't have a clue he was there.

"I've got a clear shot." Marty knew protocol, this was just a formality. But Callen was having none of it, despite the fact that Aubrey was right in his line of fire.

"You need to move now, Deeks." Callen stared right at him as he said the words and of course that alerted the gunman, who swung the gun around in a smooth arc.

_Shit. Callen's just ID-ed me as a target!_ Marty had never moved so quickly in his life, hitting the floor about ten milliseconds before Callen blasted the guy's skull into a thousand fragments. He'd been paired with some real wild-cards in his time, but none of them had ever deliberately chosen to endanger a colleague, rather than to allow them to take the clear shot.

_What the hell is up with these guys? Do they get some perverted kick out of making things more dangerous than they already are? Doesn't Callen realise that with a hyped-up guy like that, he could easily have fired off a dozen shots into the crowd when he swung that gun around? That was reckless endangerment, pure and simple. If he was a cop, I would have had Callen booted off the force for that little death or glory manoeuvre. Especially as it was nearly me that was dead while he got all the glory_.

Predictably, Sam had tried to defend Callen's actions, but then he probably would have found a way to justify Callen drowning a whole litter of kittens.

"I had a clear shot. Aubrey was between the suspect and Callen. He should have let me take the shot." It was a textbook example, there simply wasn't any argument. Marty tried to keep his cool.

"And then your bullet goes through him and into her."

Sam hadn't been there, he wasn't talking from an informed viewpoint, he was just backing his partner up automatically, talking absolute rubbish. Mind you, this was the same man who was still insisting that "liaising" was not a word. Of course his bullet wouldn't have gone through the gunman, for the good reason that Martyy would have shot him through the head, just like Callen did. Basically the same shot, but without the danger. Why did Sam seem to think that it was alright for Callen to take a shot that had exactly the same chance of hitting Aubrey as his one did? It just didn't make sense, not unless they were deliberately trying to show him what great marksmen they were. "There was only about an inch of his head showing," he reminded Sam. "And I had a clear shot." Did he have to draw a diagram before this guy would get it? Use puppets?

"But he made the shot." Sam smirked – there really was no other way to describe it – and Marty realised the whole point of the exercise had not been to deal with the situation in the most effective manner, but to demonstrate the innate superiority of the NCIS team. There was no way Callen would allowed Marty to take that shot, no matter what. This was all about control and establishing the pecking order, not about the hostage, not about the safety of the general public. Geeze – Marty had worked all number of thankless tasks, but this one really took the biscuit. Realising he had to get away before he said or did something everyone would regret, he went to see watch Kensi was getting on with Aubrey in interrogation.

"This is one of the hardest parts of my job," Kensi confided, as she drew the facts out. She was professional she was calm, she was empathetic and Aubrey told her everything. She was brilliant. For the first time, Marty could see the agent, rather than the woman. It took a lot to impress him, but Kensi achieved it effortlessly.

He leaned forward in his seat and watched how she worked, enthralled by the process, bewitched by the woman. She was still wearing that little black dress that clung to her body and her eyes were dark and deep and his mind was racing, imagining what it would feel like to walk into the interview and pick her up in his arms and just walk right outside with her, past Sam and his damn smirks and Callen with his need to prove how much better he was than everyone else and then… Okay, Marty had no idea what would happen next, except that he definitely wanted to peel that dress off very, very slowly and then start kissing every single inch of Kensi's body and… And he really needed some coffee. Maybe even with some bromide in it, because this sure as hell wasn't normal.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven: Fame: It Drives You To Crime**

_And Kensi starts to see things differently_

* * *

><p>"Dammit! I've had to break cover!" Kensi was raging. Approximately ten seconds after Callen had told her explicitly maintain her cover at all costs, things suddenly went wrong that she had no option. In a blink of an eye Fern, the former drunk turned into kick-ass Kensi. And all the time she was laying into this complete idiot, all Kensi could think about was how furious she was that bloody Detective Deeks, with his cute smile and his knowing eyes was going to rag her so badly about this. Perhaps that fury added a little extra impetus to her moves, perhaps she was just mad at the way he thought this male pig thought he could push Aubrey around, because she came close to wrenching his arm right out of his socket. Aubrey was a sweet kid, she was genuine and even though Kensi suspected she'd made some mistakes along the way, nobody deserved to be treated like this. All the beatings Kensi had taken at the hands of her sadistic ex-fiance came hurtling back into her head, except back then she'd just stood and taken the punches and the kicks. But things were different now. The days of being a victim were past. So maybe that gave a little extra impetus to her actions. Or maybe she just felt like it. It had been one hell of a frustrating day, after all.<p>

As if that hadn't been bad enough, things got rapidly worse. Kensi watched in horror as Callen seemed to go all alpha-male when he spotted the gunman standing in the middle of the dance-floor, holding Aubrey hostage, with a loaded weapon pointed at her pretty face. Instead of letting Deeks take the shot, he lost in and deliberately made the cop a target, his actions drawing the gunman's attention to Deeks and in the process endangering not only Aubrey, but everyone else in the club.

_What the hell is he doing? This isn't like Callen at all._

And then Kensi realised what this was all about. It wasn't about making a dangerous situation safe, it wasn't about disabling an armed and dangerous man, it certainly wasn't about Aubrey Darva. No, it was about Deeks. More precisely, it was all about Callen having to prove he was better than Deeks, no matter what, and that scared the crap out of her. She'd never seen Callen like this before – it was as if he had been taken over by some temporary insanity. It certainly wasn't the behaviour of an experienced NCIS agent, far less the man she knew and admired for his professionalism; the man she would have trusted with her life. This was clearly all down to testosterone – the older alpha male feeling threatened by the new young stud on the scene and having to prove his superiority by any means possible. Any minute now, he'd be grabbing Deeks and insisting they compare their dicks, to see who had the larger one. And Kensi could personally testify that Callen would definitely lose that contest, just as he'd lost a good deal of the respect she had felt for him.

_What the hell is wrong us with all? Why are we behaving like Deeks is the enemy? Why do we insist on treating him like he's some sort of threat, instead of a possible asset? Somewhere along the line, we've lost sight of what's important. Deeks isn't Dom – he's a man, not a boy and he definitely knows what he's doing. Oh God, he knows what he's doing alright. I've never met a man who could make me feel the way he did – like every nerve in my body was singing out with joy. If I just give it a chance, maybe this could work after all – me and Deeks working together? We were great together last night, after all. Only… how can I work with him every day, when all the time just want to jump his bones?_

Professionalism – that was the answer. Kensi made up her mind that she would be the best damned agent NICS had ever seen – and then some. Straightening her spine, she walked proudly towards her partner.

"Awesome!" Deeks slipped his arm around her waist, his hand curving around her waist, the warmth burning through the material of her dress and Kensi felt her thighs tremble ever so slightly. "You were awesome in there, Fern. Baby girl." And then he kissed her. Just on her cheek, a sweet kiss that nevertheless made her thighs feel as if they were going to melt like hot butter. It would have been so easy to slip away with him, to take hold of his hand and just disappear into the night together. But Kensi contented herself with leaning into him for just a second, letting her body relax against his chest, feeling the wool of that hideous sweater caress her bare arms before continuing towards the car.

"Thanks, partner." Her voice was low, it had an unaccustomed husky timbre in its tone. Kensi turned around and leant in close to him so that she could whisper into his ear. "And by the way – that was your shot. No doubt about it."

"I'll live to fight another day." For a moment Kensi could have sworn that Deeks looked strangely sad, but the emotion only registered on his face for a brief instant before it disappeared completely, to be replaced by that lazy insouciance she was beginning to adore. Unless she was very much mistaken (and she was sure she wasn't) Kensi was beginning to suspect there was a whole lot more to Marty Deeks than a pretty face and a smart mouth. After all, he had Hetty's personal seal of approval, and that wasn't exactly given out lightly or without good reason.

Poor Aubrey fell apart during the interrogation, although Kensi was as gentle as possible. This was one of the hardest parts of her job – explaining who she was, what she'd been doing and still maintaining the trust and rapport she'd built up with the girl. No matter what – it still felt like a betrayal. But the more information she teased out, the less sense it all made. Petty drugs – some minor burglaries Aubrey had unwittingly provided the information for – it was all minor stuff. There was no reason at all why Brian Roth should have been killed for a dime-a-dozen, run-of-the-mill completely petty affair like this. There had to be something bigger going on – but Kensi was damned if she could work out what it was.

"I'm going to take you home, Aubrey. Just give me a few minutes to get changed and then we'll go back to your house, okay?" Maybe she'd find a clue there.

Aubrey looked up, her pretty face tracked by tears. "I really liked Brian. He was different from all the other guys. He didn't have an ulterior motive because he didn't even know who I was. And now he's dead and I can't stop thinking that it's all because of me."

There wasn't a whole lot Kensi could say to that. Watching on the other side of the mirror, Marty Deeks thought about the previous evening and his own ulterior motives and wondered just when he'd become such a hard-hearted bastard. When Kensi came out, looking drained, he handed her his cup of coffee.

"I figured you could do with this."

Kensi took the drink gratefully, savouring both the warmth and the instant kick it gave her. "Thanks, Marty. I appreciate it."

"Killer boots, by the way." His eyes roamed slowly down her body and Kensi knew he approved of the way she looked. And that made her feel so good.

"Gotta have some where to put the essential things in life – like my gun and handcuffs."

"I could think of other places to hide them. And the fun we could have looking for them." He gave her that frank, open stare she found so disarming and if they hadn't been at work, Kensi might just have let him play hide and seek with her.

"In your dreams, Marty."

"I might just take you up on that, Kensi."

It was only when Kensi was standing underneath the shower that she realised that she'd called him Marty. Not once, but twice. And it hadn't seemed at all weird or even mildly distasteful to drink from his cup. It had all seemed so totally normal it was disturbing.

* * *

><p><em>And it is the weekend. Hooray. It's not been the best of weeks for me, I have to say, so writing this is a great distraction. <em>

_And we all know what the weekend means – no work and more chance to write some more chapters. I might even let the plot bunnies out of their hutches and see what chaos they can create. So far, I know several people are very keen to see Deeks maimed. I wonder why that might be? Any other wish-list fantasies I can oblige you with? Just let me know what you think…_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight: Fame: Puts You There Where Things Are Hollow**

_Maim alert: In response to repeated requests, evil plot bunny has been allowed out. Can you guess what is going to happen? And to whom?_

* * *

><p>After what had gone down in <em>Balm<em>, Marty was beginning to re-evaluate his working relationships with the NICS team: Callen was clearly as outwardly hostile as Sam, and he'd have to be very wary of both men. Could he trust either of them? Probably not. Well, he'd faced that kind of prejudice before and he'd risen above it. There was just this nagging doubt that he couldn't actually trust either of them not to deliberately put him into the line of fire. His dear friend Daisy had often commented that Marty Deeks had a good deal of a death wish though and enjoyed placing himself into situations where he actively courted danger. Personally, he thought she was confusing actual intent with the practical realities and constraints of his job, but maybe there was a kernel of truth in there somewhere? It wasn't as if he actually had to stay in this job after all, there were other opportunities out there, other things that he could do. Or not do. There was always the option of jacking it all in, putting his boards in the car and just hitting the open road. But then there was Kensi…

Kensi was a different matter. Marty realised how wrong he had been in his assessment of her. He kind of hoped that he was wrong about Callen and Sam too (Sallen? Cam? It was difficult to think of them as separate entities) although he was none too sanguine about that. But Kensi was like him – people judged her because she looked good, because she didn't fit the perceived stereotype of how they expected someone in that position to behave. All the time, they both had to deal with this and if he reacted by assuming a laid-back, couldn't care less attitude, then Kensi was entitled to do whatever she wished. They had more in common than he'd realised. And last night, they'd shown how well they worked together, on the most basic level. For some reason, when they'd made love it had worked. It had been right for all the wrong reasons. So maybe they could work well together as partners? And if they were also partners with benefits, maybe that could work too?

Of course, for that to happen, Kensi would have to be alive, and given that things rapidly took a turn towards the unexpected so that she found herself trapped in the Darva mansion with a fugitive war criminal that was starting to look increasingly unlikely. All those sophisticated gadgets came into their own, allowing a degree of communication that saved her life by allowing them to identify the suspect remotely and then send all the details directly to her phone, so that she was aware of the situation. It all made sense. Those were amazing phones and Marty wondered when he'd get one instead of the crappy, standard issue, just-about-able-to-send-a-text- message cell phones that LAPD thought were perfectly adequate. Of course, Sam's remarkable memory and the fact he still had the infamous pack of cards issued to troops in the Iraqi War played no little part in that either. Marty made a mental note to never, under any circumstances whatsoever, play cards with Sam. Not until he got one of those cool NCIS watches with the black strap and the enormous dial: they clearly marked a level of acceptance he was still lacking. So if he had to prove himself, then that was what he would do. Marty knew he was good – that he was damned good, one of the best. He deserved to be here. Now he was in the right mindset, all that remained was to get Callen and Sam (Sallen maybe?) to accept him for what he was. And then maybe Marty might go on to solve global warming and poverty before bedtime.

The old "death or glory" NCIA attitude came bursting back out again when Marty suggested waiting for the SWAT guys. That had been drummed into him at the LAPD, it was standard operating procedure that you waited for SWAT, because they were the experts, the people you called when you had no other choice. Only now it appeared that SWAT weren't always the best people for the job, that there was an alternative option if you were an NCIS agent – and suddenly Marty was a part of the solution, no questions asked. Running through the Mission, Marty could feel his adrenaline levels starting to rise. For once, when his partner was in danger, he was actually allowed to do something, instead of sitting back and waiting for the SWAT guys, knowing that each minute of waiting was one more minute of danger. Kensi's best chance of staying alive was if her team members could get to her. Working here with them, being on the inside, allowed Marty to see things in a completely different light and it was all starting to make perfect sense.

The speed at which Callen drove, the constant messages and updates coming through from Hetty and Eric meant that by the time they arrived at the Darva mansion, the whole team was all pumped up, aware of that feeling that there was nothing you couldn't do and certainly nothing you wouldn't do. They would do whatever was necessary. Ben Darva had unwittingly blown Kensi's cover, after she'd made sure that Aubrey had got off the property. That was their team member in there. And Marty realised that somewhere along the journey he had crossed a line and joined the team, that he was no longer standing on the sidelines and observing them, even judging them, but that he had entered into an unspoken pact that together they would do whatever it took. Sam and Callen were trusting him to play his part, so that meant Marty would have to trust them back. Trust them to literally have his back, if that was how things played out.

"Go around the back, Deeks," Callen commanded, and he obeyed instantly, because it made sense and also because someone had to take charge of the situation, to give the orders. Callen had a right to expect the rest of the team to obey him. Their best intell on the situation was that Hassan Al-Jahiri had at least three other men with him, but numbers were still unconfirmed. And it would have been nice to have a bit more detail, to have had the luxury of time to plan and prepare, but Marty was used to thinking on his feet, to reacting to situations and finally he was being given an opportunity to show exactly how good he was. Despite everything, as he raced around the back of the house, Marty was grinning. It was as if this was the moment he'd been waiting for his entire life.

And as he silently entered through the kitchen door and then moved silently through each room, checking it for any Iraqis lurking with intent, working his way methodically towards the sounds of the action, Marty could feel the blood pulsing through his veins, feel the levels of energy that heightened every sense. The important thing was to use that sensation, to make it work, to let it raise his reaction time, allow him to assess a situation in less time than it took for a neural synapse to fire its instant message. So when Al-Jahiri suddenly materialised in front of him, Marty instantly saw Callen behind the target and recognised the look in the agent's eyes. This wasn't the time to argue over who should take the shot: Callen wasn't giving him the choice, so he hit the floor hard and fast, taking himself out of the firing line, but preserving his own angle of shot.

Which, as it turned out, was the smartest thing he could have done, given that Callen misjudged the shot and only managed to wing his man. After that, it was as if things were happening in slow motion as Marty raised his gun a fraction and fired, watching the bullet hit its target just as he had seen it in his mind. The moment the shot was fired, he leapt to his feet and saw not only Al Jahiri lying dead on the floor at his feet, but the look on Callen's face. This time, the expression was impenetrable.

"What? You can't tell me I shouldn't have taken the shot?" The gun was in the dead man's hate, a mute accusation. Sometimes Marty couldn't believe this man. He'd just saved Callen's life, for crying out loud!

For a moment Callen just looked steadily at him, still with that blank expression. And then he smiled. "No, I can't tell you that. It was a good shot." And Marty knew he was in: he was one of the team.

_Dear God in heaven, mark this day down in red letters. I've actually done something right. Even Sam is smiling. Maybe this could work out after all._

It was sweet. And it would have been nice to savour the moment, maybe even exchange some manly repartee. There might even have been a warm, fragrant hug from Kensi and then they all could have gone back to the Mission and maybe even have had a few beers after work. But this was real life and the euphoria of the moment meant they were all off-guard and forgot that they only had partial information. So it really was a pity that the intelligence had been so incomplete and that the last of Al Jahiri's henchmen appeared behind Sam at that very moment, in the perfect position to take a direct shot at Marty.

The instant Marty saw the gun, he knew this was going to be bad. There was no time to take evasive action, no time for Sam to disarm the man or for Callen to shoot him. There was just no damned time at all. But then no day is ever entirely perfect and the chances of the whole team getting out unscathed had been pretty astronomical from the start. Only he hadn't expected things to end like this, not with a bullet tearing through his upper chest with such force that his legs collapsed lamost instantly.

As Marty sank down onto his knees, he could hear someone shouting his name frantically, the sound rising above the gunfire. But the pain in his chest was too fierce and he could feel the blood that had been pulsating so loudly in his ears for the last twenty minutes start to run in a hot flood, soaking his shirt.

"Agent down. We need paramedics now!" Callen was yelling and as Marty fell forward he thought that Callen sounded strange. It couldn't have been panic he heard, because Callen didn't do panic.

"Deeks? Hang on in there. You hear me?" And it was Sam's arms that stopped him from planting his face onto Ben Darva's expensive Persian carpet. Sam was on his knees, holding Marty in his arms, pressing his hand against the bullet wound and commanding him to stay with them. Marty managed to look up and the look on Sam's face was not what he expected.

_Shit. This is really bad. Funny, but it's stopped hurting. Where's Kensi? Is she alright?_

And then Marty heard her voice, screaming his name, over and over again. The last thing he saw was Kensi bending over him, telling him he would be okay. He wanted to believe he, he really did, but he knew she was lying. He'd seen just how good Kensi was at getting people to trust her, and he really wanted to trust her, to believe what she was saying, but somehow, even as the edges of consciousness started to get darker, Marty knew she was lying. Because he'd seen the look in her eyes. And she had such lovely eyes.

* * *

><p><em>Oh dear. Marty is maimed – again. But rest assured, his hair still looks great. So that's alright then.<em>


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine: Fame: It's Just The Flame**

When operations went wrong, they went really wrong, Kensi reflected, as Al-Jahiri's thugs forced her into a kneeling position, while he spread black plastic sheets on the floor. Seemed liked the guy was a good deal of a neat-freak. How strange that a fugitive war criminal was taking the time to indulge his OCD. Not that she was going to object – every extra second of reprieve she could gain before they put a gun to the back of her head and blasted her to kingdom come was valuable, meaning her team were a few feet closer and her chances of getting out this alive were that much greater. Of course, those chance would still be horribly small, but she wasn't going to give up with a fight. They'd picked the wrong woman to mess with if they thought that Kensi Blye was just going to kneel down meekly like a good little girl, like some damned animal in a slaughter house and submit to death. She wasn't ready to die – she had too much to live for. It put that encounter with Marty in the nightclub into perspective more clearly than ever. If you were accustomed to living on the edge, knowing that each day was potentially your last day on earth, then you took chances in your personal life, you grabbed pleasure with both hands: you loved like you'd never been hurt and you lived like there was no tomorrow.

If she got out of this alive; no, make that **when** she got out of this, Kensi was going to set up a date with Marty and this time they would do things properly, really get to know each other, physically and emotionally. For far too long Kensi was aware she had concentrated on instant gratification and that meant she'd been missing out on so much, that by walking away after each coupling, she'd denied herself any opportunity to develop something meaningful. All of a sudden she mourned the fact that there were no long, intimate talks in the darkness, no sense of shared union, no chance of waking up with the arms of the man she loved wrapped tightly around her. If Kensi was brutally honest, many of her sexual encounters had been deeply unfulfilling, possibly even demeaning. But things could be different: she could make them different. She had thought that one-night stands gave her control, but now she realised how wrong she'd been. That encounter with Marty had left her crying out for something more and Kensi was going to grab any chance she could with both hands. Whether he liked it or not. The though gave added impetus to her fight to stay alive.

The number of times Callen had made her rehearse moves in the gym with her hands cuffed firmly behind her back paid dividends. Kensi rolled smoothly onto her back and planted a solid, two-footed kick right into her attacker's groin, driving him backwards with the force of her assault. As he staggered, moaned, went grey and then collapsed into a whimpering heap, she was already somersaulting backwards and springing to her feet, giving thanks for whoever had invented Spandex and thought of incorporating it into jeans. And that was the moment when Callen and Sam came through the front door, like two avenging angels with their swords on fire and Kensi knew that she was going to live and have that chance to turn her life around.

Sam had just finished unfastening her hands when Kensi heard Marty's voice saying indignantly "What? You can't tell me I shouldn't have taken the shot?" Flashing her a quick smile, Sam went over to his partner, leaving Kensi to try to shake the blood back down into her numb fingers.

"No, I can't tell you that. It was a good shot," Callen said frankly, and Kensi smiled. Maybe they were all learning to work together. She was still smiling as she started to walk over to where her team stood on the other side of the room, but the expression on her face changed to horror as a man came out of nowhere, pushed her aside and fired at directly Marty. She was smart, she was quick and fast, but even Kensi wasn't that good. She could take down the shooter and she did, but only after he'd already shot her partner, the force of the bullet taking Marty to his knees, a look of complete shock on his face.

And then all hell brook loose, as in one instant Callen was demanding immediate help with the words that Hetty must have come to dread "Agent down,", while at the same time Sam was diving forward and catching Marty in his arms, dropping to his own knees to support the injured detective in his arms. And all Kensi could think was _"Oh shit, this is bad,"_ as she saw the blood and the look of resignation on her partner's face.

Afterwards, Sam told her that she kept saying "Marty": just that one word, repeating it over and over again. And when it finally got a reaction, made him open his eyes, Sam said that she crouched down and put her hands on either side of Marty's face and told him he would be alright. Kensi remembers none of that. But whenever she closes her eyes she can see Marty's face so clearly, the way he looked directly at her, already pale from blood loss and his hair falling back in disarray and she can remember exactly how he looked and the strange half-smile that flickered briefly on his lips before he passed out. And Kensi can remember thinking how much he meant to her, the man who had broken the ice around her heart and made her want to start living again.

"Paramedics are on their way." Callen said tersely. "Should be with us in five."

Sam looked up at him. "Tell them to be here in three because he's doing his best to bleed out on us." The blood from the shoulder wound was oozing throught his fingers. "Kensi – go grab something we can use to try to stem this. A towel from the kitchen would be good."

Numbly, Kensi got to her feet and walked past the dead bodies littering the house. Someone was going to have one hell of a job clearing this mess up, she thought automatically. And then she saw a slight movement and instantly her gun was in her hand. "Darva! Ben Darva's still alive. But he's in a bad way." There was dark blood oozing from the man's ears, and that was never good. Usually it meant a catastrophic brain injury. Maybe it would be better if the man never regained consciousness and had to deal with the fact he'd harboured a war criminal.

Kensi looked at her watch and saw it was just before noon. Thirty six hours ago, she'd had the best sex of her life and after that she'd started to reassess her life and why she was so hell-bent on self-destructing. Twenty four hours ago she'd realised that Marty Deeks was different, that she wanted him in a way she'd never wanted any man in her entire life – wanted him to be in her life, wanted to share her life with him. Twelve hours ago, she'd thought that maybe things could be different. But right now, she didn't know how she felt.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten: Fame: Lets Him Loose**

_Evil plot bunny wants poor darling Marty to suffer some more. As do several readers… what a blood thirsty lot you are!_

"What's his blood type?" the paramedic demanded, and all the NCIS team could do was to look blankly back at him. "Okay, what about allergies? You don't know that either? Great. You are sure he's one of yours, right?" His hands pressed down on the pad of dressings on the shoulder wound. Greg was 42 and during the course of nearly 20 years of picking up broken and battered bodies he'd seen most things. It was never a good sign when the patient was unconscious and the bleeding was still uncontrolled.

"He's one of us," Callen informed him unequivocably. "He only joined the team yesterday." Turning away for a second, he pulled out his phone and asked Hetty to make sure the hospital had all the necessary information and tried not to feel guilty. He was the team leader – he should have known: he should have taken the trouble to find out.

"Hell of an introduction to the job." Greg looked at his partner and gave an infinitesimal shrug: sometimes there was no accounting for people. Still, it took all sorts and their job was to try to save lives, not to pass judgement. "So you don't know his religion either, I guess?"

"Why the hell would we?" Sam asked. "It's not usually the first question I ask anybody." He'd relinquished his hold on Deeks, who was now lying on the ground as the two paramedics worked frantically on him.

"Comes in handy sometimes." Greg tore open Deeks' shirt and tried not to exclaim when he saw the bullet wound. "Looks like it's nicked the brachial artery." Blood was pulsating out with every heartbeat. "Let's get some large bore IVs into him and try to keep his volume up. By the way, your guy's Catholic." He gestured with his head to a small gold medal on a chain around Deeks' neck. "St Michael – patron saint of police officers, paramedics and a whole heap more. I've been wearing a similar one ever since I started my EMT training. It might be a good idea if we have a priest standing by at the hospital." He nodded to his partner, and they slid cannulas into each arm of their patient, running thought saline in one arm, plasma in the other.

"Why not?" Sam agreed hollowly. Not that Deeks would need it, but why not? It wouldn't do any harm. The things you found out about people under the strangest circumstances… Deeks hadn't struck him as a practising Catholic, he'd not thought of him in that way at all. He'd just characterised the man as an unwanted replacement for Dom, someone who was on there on sufferance and only with them temporarily. He'd even called him "Temp" to his face. It had never occurred to Sam just how temporary Deeks might actually be. It had just been a joke, a stupid, spiteful joke. Only it wasn't funny now, not now that his own clothing was soaked with the other man's blood. It hadn't even been funny at the time.

Callen ended the call with Hetty. "No known allergies and his blood type is A negative."

"I could have told you I was A Neg," Deeks said in a faint voice. "If you'd asked me."

"We thought you were ignoring us," Sam informed him, highly relieved to see Deeks was back in the land of the living and even managing to be sarcastic. "Either that or sleeping on the job."

"A Neg? It would be." Greg tried not to sound too pessimistic, but it was hard. "One of the rarer groups. And after that bus crash yesterday, I know the county is running low on their supplies." This was a complication they didn't need. Sure, their patient could take O negative blood, but an exact match would give him that much more of a chance. And from the looks of things, this guy could do with all the help he could get.

"Sorry to be so awkward." Deeks took a deep breath and immediately regretted it, as the pain surged across his chest, blossoming like some obscene flower.

Greg took a look at the readings on the monitors and frowned. "You want some pain relief there, buddy?"

He shook his head briefly. "I'm okay." From past experience Deeks knew that if he took shallow breaths it made the pain easier to deal with.

"Sure you are." Greg drew up morphine into the syringe. "I'm going to put this straight into the bicep of your good arm – it'll work faster that way."

"I'm A negative, I'll donate my blood," Kensi informed the paramedics, in a tone of voice that brooked no argument. At least there was something useful she could do, even if she did have a healthy terror of needles and regularly passed out each time she had to give a blood sample. "He's my partner." They were loading Marty onto a gurney now and she took a hold of his hand, gently stroking it with her fingers. "I'm coming with you." Her eyes never left his face for an instant.

Deeks smiled up at her and squeezed her hand gently. "Thanks, Kensi." His pupils were starting to contract as the drug started to kick in and had the effect of making his irises look bluer than ever.

"That's what partners are for." It felt as if someone had punched her in the chest, looking at him lying there on that gurney and feeling so helpless.

_How come he still looks so bloody gorgeous, even when he's wounded and bleeding all over the place? _

Greg closed his eyes briefly and then nodded. "Alright. You can with us. We've got a vascular surgeon prepped and just waiting for us to arrive, so we're going to be moving pretty fast.

"You mean I get the flashing lights and sirens? Cool." Deeks was beginning to sound as if he'd had at least four double whiskies and the room was starting to shimmer in a most peculiar way.

"You get the full treatment – no expense spared. You're an LAPD detective, right? Well, we look after our own." Greg looked at Callen and Sam. "You guys can follow behind. Just try and keep up."

"Don't worry about us. We'll be right there," Callen assured him. "You just take care of our friend."

That was the last thing Deeks remembered before the drugs pulled him down into a soft, hazy world where there was no pain: that Callen had called him his friend. And that Kensi was holding his hand like she would never let him go. Which was fine by him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven: Fame: To Bind Your Time**

_This was only supposed to be about six chapters long, eight at the maximum. So what happened?_

* * *

><p>"Report please, Mr Callen." Hetty walked into the waiting room and regarded her agents steadily.<p>

"Deeks is in surgery as we speak. The bullet nicked his brachial artery, as well as doing collateral damage to his collar bone and scapula. So they've got the ortho-pods and the vascular surgeons working on him. It could be some time, but the latest report was that things were going as expected and there was no compromise to his circulation." Callen knew how to recite facts. There would be time for a proper debriefing later.

She nodded. "And how are you feeling, Miss Blye? You do appear to be a little peaky, I must say." That was an understatement, as Kensi was still the colour of cream cheese, with an undertone of green that sat oddly on her normally olive-toned complexion.

Kensi took a sip of water before she even attempted to talk. "I passed out, Hetty. But I'll be fine."

"She passed out twice," Sam clarified. "Once when they put the needle in and then when they changed over the bags."

"It felt disgusting! It's not normal to be able to let people guddle around with your veins and stick huge great needles into them, Sam." Just thinking about it was making her feel queasy again.

"Then it was very brave of you to volunteer to donate at all." Hetty pursed her lips. "I've taken the precaution of suggesting to your colleagues back at the Mission that they might wish to organise a blood drive, just in case. I believe that unformed LAPD officers have already started a similar effort."

"Trust Deeks to have to be different to everyone else," Sam snorted. He held out his hand to Hetty. "Maybe you should hold onto this for him?" He uncurled his fingers to reveal the golden medal engraved with the figure of St Michael. "They gave it to the priest after he'd done that whole anointing business." And what memories that had brought back from his own days on active service. The most unlikely men requested a priest at the end. Some had hung on despite the odds, just waiting for that final blessing before their final journey. Only that wasn't going to happen to Deeks.

"Keep it, Mr Hannah. For the meantime. And, when the time is right, give it back to your colleague." She looked at the medal and smiled: St Michael the Archangel, the patron saint of warriors. A small token, well-worn, perhaps the sort of thing a godmother might give to a baby? Clearly it was something Marty Deeks valued.

Sam's fingers closed around the medal and he was about to put it back into his pocket when he remembered his jeans were liberally coated in Deeks' blood. Instead, he unfastened the chain and hung it around his own neck. "I can do with all the protection I can get," he muttered.

"I'm going out for some fresh air," Kensi declared. "Come and get me if you hear anything." She was beginning to feel as if she couldn't breathe in that room, it was as if all the oxygen was being sucked out of the air. And just sitting, waiting for news was too much to bear. Her head was so full of confusing thoughts and she needed to try to put them into some sort of order. She leant against the hospital wall and watched all the people engrossed in their own worlds, wondering what troubles filled their minds. She'd stopped going to church after her father died, but now she wished she could remember how to pray, longed for the comfort of belief.

"Are you hanging on in there?" It was Callen, of course. Callen, who knew her so well he didn't realy have to ask.

"Been better. But I'll be fine. You know?"

"I know. It's always the waiting that gets to you. The not-knowing."

"Yeah."

He leaned back companionably beside her, their arms touching. "It'll be alright, Kensi."

"Sure it will. But we didn't even know him. Not really."

"I know. But even if we had, would things have worked out differently?"

She sighed. "Probably not. But maybe we could have treated him differently?"

Callen squirmed internally. "I was feeling bad enough already. Good job on maxing out my guilt, Kensi."

"A trouble shared, and all that, G." She looked at her watch. "We should go back. They should be finished by now." There were some things you had to face head-on, that you couldn't avoid, no matter how hard you tried.

There was no sign of Hetty when they went back in and Sam was pacing up and down the small room like a caged tiger. "She got a call on her cell and went somewhere private. It doesn't sound good."

"Calm down, Sam. It doesn't necessarily mean anything."

"I know that and I'm perfectly calm." Sam glared at his partner, his expression and the tone in which he delivered his statement both at odds with the actual words.

"It's the not knowing that does it every time," Kensi said knowledgably. "And the low blood sugar doesn't help either. Go get us all coffee and donuts."

He looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. "I don't want coffee or donuts."

"But we do." Callen took hold of his arm and propelled him to the doorway. "And you need to get out of here. So go get us snacks."

Sam knew from experience that there was no point in arguing with Callen when he was in one of his calm, highly rational moods, so he trudged off drearily to the hospital coffee shop. Quite what good a dozen sugar-laden, greasy, full of empty carbohydrate donuts would do was anyone's guess, but who was he to argue otherwise? As he walked along the corridor, he saw a sign pointing to a small ecumenical chapel and for some reason, he went in.

It was cool and quiet in the room, giving the impression of peace. And it was empty and all of a sudden Sam realised that this was what he needed: just a few moments of quiet contemplation, away from all the noise and chaos of the outside world.

"Let him be okay." It wasn't a prayer, it was a silent supplication – and to whom was anyone's guess. Sam wasn't a religious man in the conventional sense, but he did believe there had to be a higher purpose. His fingers toyed anxiously with the holy medal as his thoughts flew upwards and he struggled to make sense of things.

* * *

><p><em>So many thanks to all my wonderful reviewers and to everyone who has added story and author alerts, or added my stories to their favourites list. You really do encourage me to sit down at the laptop and add another instalment. And when you've had a week full of stress and discouragement at work, that really does make a big difference. And now for some readers' questions:<em>

_**Where exactly does this story stand in the K/D Universe?  
><strong>__Good question! Along with Like A Hurricane, it began life as "prelude" to Personal Questions, in the sense that they are both coloured by the facts revealed in that story. But they've since taken on a life of their own, in the annoying way that stories do. Call it evolution, if you will. So now they are more like WHNs for the episodes, while still staying part of the overall universe, if that makes sense? I hope it does. If I was remotely organised, all this would have been meticulously planned before my fingers ever hit the keyboard. But every story since Personal Questions has been part of an organic process, in that the rough plotlines are in my head, but each chapter takes shape on the day it is posted. Or to put it another way: everything is subject to change._

_**Will there be a sequel to Comes A Time?  
><strong>__A lot of people have been asking if it really is the end of things for Kensi and Marty in my stories. Now, given that at the end of Comes A Time there was an explosion, the car Hetty and Deeks were in rolled over and then it went on fire, while everyone watched in horror, I thought things were well and truly wrapped up. They're both dead - aren't they? Wasn't that a big enough maim even for me? You mean you want me to write more about what happened next - some nice angst, a double funeral, maybe have Abby come on over with her black lace parasol perhaps? Or do you possibly suspect I've got something up my sleeve? (I do actually, a rather fetching tattoo of the emblem of the 1st Polish Parachute Brigade, but that's another story altogether). All I can say is that you might want to go and listen to the Neil Young song – listen to the lyrics carefully. Especially the second verse. It's a beautiful song – you will thank me!_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve: Fame: Keeps You Insane**

_Fourth instalment of the day – even I'm impressed by that! And loads of lovely reviews which just inspire me to write some more (hint hint!)_

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><p>As it turned out, Sam realised that getting the coffee and donuts had been a good call. The instant he got back to the waiting room Kensi and Callen had fallen upon them as if they were manna from heaven and even Sam found that he was suddenly hungry. With a shock he realised that it had to be at least ten hours since he had eaten or drunk anything. This day was slipping away between his fingers like grains of sand. They were still munching away in silence when Hetty came back into the room with a set expression on her face.<p>

"Marty?" Kensi had leapt to her feet, sending the dregs of her coffee spilling across the carpet.

"There's no news yet. So we have no reason to worry." Hetty stood up a little straighter. "But I do have to inform you that we are instructed to return to the Mission immediately."

"No way." Sam folded his arms and sat back in his chair, projecting an attitude of supreme defiance.

"Seconded. We're not going anywhere until we hear how Deeks is. Even if we have to handcuff Kensi to the foot of his bed." Callen copied his partner's pose, so that they looked like a pair of bookends.

"And I'll let them." Kensi remained standing, and placed her hands on her hips. "Why would you even ask us to leave when he's still in surgery? You know we want to make sure he's alright."

"I'm not going anywhere until I've seen the man with my own eyes," Sam informed Hetty bluntly. "So there's no use in asking me again."

"But I'm not asking you, Mr Hannah. I thought I made that quite clear. I am merely the conduit that relays orders, which apply to myself as well as to my team. Given the choice, I would remain here to check on the condition of my operative. However, I am not afforded that luxury."

Callen unfolded his arms. "So what's going on here, Hetty?" He cocked his head questioningly, sensing that events had spiralled outwith her control.

"There is an ongoing incident involving a naval commander, some classified documents and a pole dancer called Misty Walker that Director Vance has decreed demands our immediate attention. I have spent a frustrating amount of time attempting to explain that there are at least three other teams who could deal with the situation, but regrettably he is adamant." Hetty's mouth made a small moue of distaste, but she said no more.

"Vance never was a team player," Callen said derisively. "He wouldn't know the meaning of the word loyalty if it came up and bit him."

"He said all of us, Hetty? We've all got to go?" Kensi's voice was thin and she shot her boss a beseeching look.

"He gave me no choice in the matter." Hetty drew a deep breath. "I really did try to change his mind." She'd done everything she could, and more. But Leon Vance had remained as stubborn, pig-headed and downright ignorant as he'd been the first time she'd clapped eyes on him. For some reason, his style of superior, condescending and hostile management had been deemed to be appropriate and even commendable, which made Hetty seriously question her continued commitment to NCIS.

Looking at the naked expression of real regret on her face, for the very first time Callen saw Hetty as completely human; he'd always known she was someone who genuinely cared about the people she managed, but now he saw just how personally she was involved. "Leon's a dickhead. But he's the man who calls the shots. So, the sooner we get this sorted out, the sooner we can all come back here and see Deeks. Right?" Even if it meant pulling double shifts. You just didn't go off and abandon a colleague like this.

"It is strange how investigating one operation can often lead one to cross paths with another, quite unrelated case," Hetty mused, glad she could rely on Callen. "In that I mean that I would not be at all surprised if any one or indeed all of you might just find good reason to call in at this hospital, in the course of carrying out the duties Director Vance has assigned you to." When she had first started work in the Pentagon, a much older colleague had given young Hetty guidance in the fine art of "how to look busy by carrying a manila folder and a pen at all times" and this rudimentary subterfuge was remarkably effective at fooling all number of people. It was all about having the necessary confidence and projecting the expected image. She was glad to see that her team absorbed the message.

"I heard that when Vance was caught up in that explosion he cried like a baby and took twice as long to get back to desk duty as was expected," Sam said darkly. "The man's a complete jerk."

"He is still the Director of NCIS," Hetty reminded him.

Sam was having none of it. "Just goes to prove that they really need to get some better promotion procedures in place, that's all."

Hetty couldn't repress her smile, nor could she disagree with her agent's assessment. Right now, she would happily disembowel Leon Vance with a blunt teaspoon, and she suspected she would have to fight off a long line of similarly disgruntled NCIS employees for that honour.

A nurse popped her head around the door. "The operation is over and the surgeons say they were pleased with how it all went. They'll be through to talk to you shortly and then you can see your friend for a few minutes." She looked startled when this good news was not greeted in the way she had expected.

"Unfortunately, events beyond our control mean we have to leave. Immediately." Hetty managed to keep her voice completely devoid of any emotion, even as she registered the look of complete disbelief on the nurse's face. "But thank you very much for taking the time to come and tell us the good news."

"It's not fair," Kensi protested as Callen hooked her elbow and propelled her out of the room. She couldn't bear the thought that Marty would wake up all alone. What on earth would he think? And besides she had this cool fantasy of sitting at his bedside, mopping his fevered brow… and maybe a whole lot more of him too. "It's not right and it's not fair."

Hetty looked back over her shoulder. "Amen to that, sister."

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><p><em>Can you guess that I really, really dislike Leon Vance? Such an unsympathetic, unlikeable character. <em>


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen: Fame: It's The Price You Pay**

The critical care unit of a busy hospital is a distinct world unto itself, but this is never so true as a night, when lights are low, but the machines that populate the place emit their own soft glow, along with a range of soft sounds, a medley of beeps and pings that create an ever-present backdrop to the murmur of machines pushing air into lungs that are too tired or just too damaged to work for themselves. And amidst all this mechanical noise there is the whisper of rubber-soled shoes as the nurses move from patient to patient. At this time of night, it is unusual to see a doctor, for they are sleeping. This is the nocturnal world where critical care never ceases and is unheeding of arbitrary hours noted on a clock face. There is no point at which the nurses can relax, for at any moment they may be required to save a life. They are the frontline troops and the battle never lets up for one instant.

Los Angeles is a city full of guns, and the nurses are used to seeing gang members being brought in, along with the results of domestic violence and petty theft, and even the pathetic children who have got their innocent hands on a weapon left carelessly within reach. Each situation requires the same amount of care, for they cannot judge. But it is always slightly different when a law enforcement officer is brought in injured in the line of duty. It shouldn't be different, but it is, for the nurses are only human and they know that if it were not for these men and women then they would see even more victims coming into the Critical Care Unit.

It is just after 2 a.m. when Nurse Anna Robertson notices that Detective Marty Deeks is beginning to stir. As she walks across the floor towards his bed, she can see the machines monitoring his heartbeat, blood pressure, oxygen intake and pulse are all registering the fact that the drugs are starting to wear off and he is waking up.

"You're in hospital. You were shot, but you're going to be fine." She speaks in a low voice, and watches carefully to see if he is awake enough to understand her.

"Hospital?" His voice is husky from the tube used to keep his airway open during the complex operation. "Again?" There is a note of weary resignation in his voice. And then the pain starts to register and it almost takes his breath away. It's like someone has fired a distress flare right into his shoulder and the damn thing is burrowing away with a white hot heat.

"Everything is going to fine," Anna reassures him and notes down the readings from the machines onto his chart, before recalibrating the pain-relief.

As the drugs hit his system, Marty experiences the familiar feeling of euphoria that precedes oblivion. "Next time, tell me before you do that," he rasps, as the lines on the ceiling tiles resolve themselves into a jagged pattern and then into complete chaos. He hates this feeling of being out of control. Yet, despite this, he welcomes the unconsciousness that follows.

Anna waits for a few moments, checking that his breathing is deep and regular and that the dressings covering his wounds are clean and fresh. He's a good looking young man, she thinks, handsome despite the ordeal he's gone through, in a wholesome sort of way. He doesn't look like a hero, he looks more like the boy-next-door in a movie. Except that this is real life, with all its blood and pain and scars that stay for ever. She wonders how he will get over this, who will be there to help him, and then the alarms go off across the room and Anna has another patient to tend to, and Marty Deeks slips out of her thoughts as she concentrates the job before her, the never-ending cycle of brutality that shows her just how low the human race has sunk.

It is nearly 3 a.m. before she gets a break, and by then Anna is ready for a few moments respite. She leaves the unit by a secure door and immediately is accosted by a tall, muscular man, who looks as if he has been awake for almost as long as she has. He has the most intense eyes Anna has ever seen.

"My friend is in there." He shows her his ID, which is of one of the many federal agencies. They all begin to blur into one after a while, but it looks real enough. The picture is certainly that of the man standing before her and states that he is Special Agent Sam Hannah of NCIS. "Deeks. Detective Marty Deeks. He was shot and brought in yesterday." His eyes are beseeching her for news.

"He's going to be alright," Anna reassures him. "Your friend came through the operation well, and he woke up a short while ago. We're still transfusing him with blood, but he should be alright."

Agent Hannah shudders slightly as this, as if he is reliving some unpleasant memory. His fingers toy nervously with a small gold medal on a chain around his neck and he silently mouths "thank you".

"Go home, you look exhausted," Anna says compassionately. "He's still very ill and you won't be able to see him for at least 12 hours."

"I just had to know – that he was going to be alright." Sam tries to explain, but it is difficult to put it into words.

"I understand. I'll let Detective Deeks know you were here."

"You don't need to." He turns to go, but Anna puts her hand out.

"He's lucky to have a friend like you."

Sam Hannah gives a sigh that seems to come right up from the soles of his shoes. "If only you knew." He leaves after that, walking away with his head bend down and his hands stuffed into his trouser pockets and Anna wonders what exactly happened to Detective Deeks and, more pertinently, what happened between the two men. But by the time she comes on duty the next day, the police officer has been moved and she never sees him again. It is an intriguing interlude and Anna is curious to find out more, but then the next patient comes in from theatre and needs her help, so she dismisses it from her mind and concentrates on yet another person who needs her help, yet another link in the chain of never-ending heartbreak and misery. Sometimes she feel much older than 27. And sometimes she wonders how much longer she can keep on doing this job.

* * *

><p><em>Oh dear – that was a bit angst-ridden, wasn't it? You wouldn't believe I'd had a REALLY good day at work and just ended negotiations on a case that has been going for 5 years, would you? Maybe I'll write something more cheerful a bit later on? I might even see if I can persuade randy plot bunny to come out and play. If Marty is in a fit state by then. BTW – although not explicitly stated, you may assume that his hair is still looking great.<em>


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen: Fame: At The End Of The Day**

_Two updates on a weekday! I told you I'd had a good day, didn't I?_

* * *

><p>"Go home, Mr Callen. It is very late and you must be tired." Hetty was concerned at the lines of fatigue she saw on his face.<p>

"You're still here," Callen pointed out, as he began to shut down his PC. "And if I guess correctly, you're not going straight home when you leave here, are you?"

"Probably not."

"Can I give you a lift? I'm going in the same direction – if you're going to the hospital, that is. On my own time, of course. Just in case Director Vance should ask." He frowned at the screen which informed him that it was installing updates and wondered when this day was ever going to end.

"That would be kind of you." Hetty wandered over to the desk recently occupied by Deeks and shook her head sadly. "We never know, do we? What is just around the corner, I mean."

"Sometimes it's better that way. Sometimes it's the past that's the problem. If we can get over that, then maybe…" Callen buried his head in his hands. "I don't know. Maybe I'm so tired I can't think straight. I'm not making much sense here, am I?"

"I think I understand. We cannot escape the past, but perhaps we can atone for our sins and learn to live with the shadows they cast forward?"

Callen reckoned he must be more exhausted that he'd thought, because while he couldn't even begin to work out the meaning behind that, it just seemed to make things even more complicated. "How about you drive?" he suggested. That way they had at least a slight chance of not needing to go via the emergency room before they called in on Deeks.

"I thought you had always wanted the opportunity to be behind the wheel of a finely honed and crafted precision piece of engineering that encapsulates not only beauty, but also form and function. You disappoint me, Mr Callen." It was impossible not to notice the twinkle in her eye.

"It's too late to play games, Hetty. Put me out of my misery – please?"

"My Jaguar, Mr Callen. I'm asking you if you would like to drive my Jaguar?"

Callen got his feet, all trace of tiredness suddenly gone. That car was almost as legendary as the woman who drove it. For years Hetty had fiercely repelled any suggestion that she might permit anyone else to even contemplate sitting in the driver's seat, far less actually turning the ignition key. "Are you serious?"

"Of course I'm serious. Would I joke aout a thing like that? So,, the question surely is - are you driving?"

"I'm driving." He reached up with one hand and caught the keys that flew across the space between them.

"You do know how to operate a manual gear shift, don't you?" Hetty asked anxiously as they walked out.

"I'm a quick learner," Callen assured her, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice and almost succeeding.

Hetty was relieved to see that he never even gave the car keys a second glance before starting the engine, for in her wish to distract her agent from his misery she had quite forgotten the key chain boasted a small gold medal, one that would be immediately familiar to Callen, and altogether too familiar for mere chance. The events of day had taken their toll on her as well, but she hid that better than most.

The car was sheer pleasure to drive – more responsive than Callen had imagined, even if the lack of power steering did it make it more challenging. And it did take a few minutes to become accustomed to the driver's seat being on the right hand side. But the roads were clear at of night and he was able drive smoothly and dream a little above the soft roar of the engine. The only thing that could have made the experience more perfect would have been if Julie Christie had been sitting in the passenger seat. Plus there was the small matter that he was driving to the hospital, to see a seriously injured colleague. But apart from those two things, it was pure heaven.

"Some things improve with age," Callen remarked, slightly out of breath with the thrill of it all, as he dropped the keys into Hetty's waiting hand.

"How very kind of you to say so." Hetty kept walking towards the hospital, fully aware that Callen had halted dead in his tracks and was staring incredulously at her back.

_Every single time. I don't know how she does it, but every single time she nails me._ Shaking his head, Callen jogged after the small, resolute figure.

"It looks like we weren't the only ones to be concerned," Hetty said, nodding towards a familiar figure striding across the car park. "I just hope Mr Hannah manages to get a few hours sleep before reporting for duty tomorrow morning."

"He worked until nearly midnight. I told him not to come in till 11." Callen was beyond caring what Leon Vance said or did. He'd assigned them to a penny-ante case purely out of spite and a desire to flex his administrative muscles and everyone knew it. The commander had strictly limited clearance, that related to operational matters concerning his only own vessel. Any damage was limited and had already been controlled. The only real issue appeared to be that he had once dated Vance's wife. Clearly Leon had some personal interest in the case and was keen to make sure his former rival had the book thrown at him. However, Callen would wager good money that Leon was oblivious to the fact that his own wife had also worked briefly in the same club, and that she'd been rather freer with her favours than the pole dancer, providing the customer was willing to pay. It was strangely amusing to thing that straight-laced, unimaginative Vance, who probably thought anything other than missionary position sex was not only un-American, but against the constitution, was married to a former hooker. For an instant, Callen felt sorry for Mrs Vance, who was not only about to have the lid on her formerly respectable life blown right off, but who must be terribly frustrated being married to Leon, who doubtless scheduled sex into his calendar on a regular, twice-weekly basis, other engagements allowing. A voice broke into his musings and he was aware of Hetty bristling beside him.

"I know Detective Deeks is in Critical Care," she was saying. "That is why I am here."

"As I already explained, we don't allow visitors." The nurse had an implacable expression on her face, that of one who had not only seen this all before, but was singularly unimpressed and unmoved. In short, she was an equal match for Hetty.

"That's why I took the liberty of inviting Miss Lang to be present while I examined my patient." The voice had the faint hint of a foreign inflexion, and belonged to a plump older woman with curly red hair. "I'll take full responsibility, nurse. I'm so sorry to keep you waiting, Hetty." She smiled charmingly at the nurse, before taking a hold of Hetty's elbow and ushering her through the doors, while Callen followed meekly behind.

"As you wish, Dr Maczek." The nurse looked completely pissed off and Callen gave her an apologetic smile, knowing just how she felt at being over-ruled by people in authority. It didn't seem to help matters any: she still looked grim.

"Are you going to tell me what is so special about this boy you called me at this ungodly hour of the night, Hetty?" The doctor cast a critical eye over her patient and then picked up the medical charts.

"Because he is one of mine and I was worried about him. I feel responsible for all my agents. There's no other reason. They are all special."

It struck Callen that perhaps Hetty was protesting just a little too much.

"This one certainly is a special case. He's doing remarkably well, much better than he should be, given the circumstances. I wouldn't do this for just anyone, you know. The nurses used to like me…"

"Tell them she blackmailed you," Callen suggested helpfully. "I'm sure they'll believe you." He looked at Deeks and thought that if this was what doing remarkably well looked like, he never wanted to see anyone who was doing poorly. Deeks looked like he'd just crawled out of his grave, and that was putting it politely.

"Ignore him, Kasia. He's overtired and thinks he's being amusing. My agent will recover?"

_Interesting. So Hetty already thinks of Deeks as one of her agents? I didn't believe her blanket denial earlier on that there nothing behind his assignment to NCIS for one single minute. Hetty never does anything without a good reason or an ulterior motive. I wonder which one it is this time? And does Deeks know what this is all about or is he as clueless as the rest of us?_

"Given time, he'll be fine. Your boy will live to fight another day." Kasia looked down at the unconscious man, who moved restlessly in his sleep and her lips pursed in sympathy. Was it ever worth the price paid by the individual? Could the pain and suffering ever be justified?

* * *

><p><em>Hmmm – more allusions to the intertwined pasts of our beloved characters. And a shameless allusion to a great war hero. And I'm terribly sorry, but there is no way Marty is in any shape to have the kind of hot sex he and Kensi deserve. You'll just have to be patient while he suffers a bit more.<em>


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen: Fame: Life Happens**

Hetty stood at the side of the bed and surveyed Marty carefully, noting the blood that was still being transfused and the tense expression on his face, despite the drugs. "You never get used to this," she said in an undertone. "Every time, it makes me wonder, if this is the price we pay, is it worth it?" When she finally closed her eyes and tried to sleep, Hetty knew that she would see Marty's haunted face in the darkness, see the damage wrought on his body, not only the bullet wound, but the dark purple bruises on the insides of his arms where the paramedics had inserted needles into veins that had already started to collapse.

"I know that feeling." Callen had been in the same position too many times. Hell, he was there right now, standing knee-deep alongside Hetty in the puddles of guilt. "And what was your conclusion?"

She regarded him with deep, unfathomable eyes. "I'll let you know when I finally reach one." Sometimes Hetty thought of the day when she would be called to atone for her sins before God and the prospect made her shudder. But there was no sense in dreading the future, when the present held its very own horrors. Reaching out, Hetty pushed back the hair that tumbled forward on Deeks' forehead in a remarkably motherly gesture that almost took Callen's breath away. For once Hetty did not care that she was exposing herself in the way. Sometimes she just needed to indulge herself a little, and Callen could be relied upon to keep his mouth shut. "Sleep well, my dear." It almost sounded like a benediction.

"Time to go." The doctor took one last look at her patient and the machines monitoring his progress and ushered them towards the doors.

"Look after him, Kasia. Look after him for me."

"You know I will, Hetty. I always have."

Kensi was waiting outside for them, clearly impatient, moving her weight from foot to foot. "They wouldn't let me in," she stated indignantly. "I told them I was his partner, but they still wouldn't let me in. How come you guys got in?" She stared indignantly at Callen.

"Hetty knows how to make friends and influence people."

"That nurse didn't seem very friendly."

"She wasn't the one Hetty had to influence." Callen stretched his spine and felt all the vertebrae click into position. "It's been a long day. By the way, Deeks is doing fine."

"I wondered when you were going to say anything." Kensi bit her bottom lip. "Really? He's alright?"

Despite the longing look in her eyes, Callen couldn't lie. "No, I couldn't say that. And quite frankly, he looks like shit. But Hetty's medical friend says he's remarkable. And that in time he'll make a full recovery."

"Okay. That's it then? No point in me hanging around, I suppose?" Kensi couldn't believe that she wouldn't even get a glimpse of Marty, far less be able to actually touch him and reassure herself he was still alive.

"No point at all. We only got in by the skin of our teeth and Hetty's amazingly diverse range of contacts. Maybe in a couple of days things will be different?"

Of course they would. Because she'd only known Marty Deeks for a few days. This was just an obsession, nothing more. It wasn't possible to fall in love with someone in such a short period of time: the mere idea was ridiculous. He was just a man, a perfectly ordinary man, albeit with a body from God and a smile to die for, not to mention the way he could make her feel more alive than any man she'd ever met. There was nothing particularly special about him and in another few days Kensi would get over him. And in the meantime, there was always work to keep her occupied. This pseudo-affair she'd been playing out in her mind had just been a delusion and it was time for Kensi to face facts: they'd had a one-night stand, with damned little foreplay and absolutely no post-coital bliss. It had been all about sex: nothing more and nothing less. It wasn't any sort of a first date, it was just a means to an end.

So, this was where it ended, right here and right now. And Kensi knew she would be fine, because she didn't love him. All she had to do was to keep telling herself that and eventually she might even start to believe it. But, just for a moment, when they had left _Balm_ together, she had thought they might just have had a chance, that maybe things might have worked out, despite the lousy start. It was a pity she'd been wrong, because she really liked him.

"I guess this means the end of the NCIS/LAPD liaison?" she asked, trying to keep the note of desolation from her voice, willing Callen to go out and move half a dozen mountains before breakfast.

"I guess." Callen was finding it difficult not to yawn. "Deeks was the one Hetty wanted, and now he's out of the picture…" It was no good, he was so tired and the yawn simply would not be suppressed.

"Pity, I really liked him."

Callen draped his arm around her shoulders and propelled her to the exit. "I know, Kensi. I know. But life happens."

Wasn't that the damned truth? You made your plans and then bloody life came along and fucked them all up. Every single time. Kensi felt like weeping, but she managed to wait until she got home. And there, in the darkness of her over-priced, messy and hideously lonely apartment she sat on the side of her bed, put her head back and howled out her misery, her longing for what might have been, for what had almost been within her grasp but had been pulled away. Because at the end of the day, life happened.

* * *

><p><em>I thought it was only fair that Kensi should get the chance to suffer a little as well.<em>


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen: Fame: That's Life**

"You've got to eat something," Caroline remonstrated. She knew the stubborn set to Marty's face only too well.

"Like jello? I don't think so. I hate jello – always have done. Who wants to eat something that's like congealed slime?" He gave the older woman a pitiful look. "The food in here's terrible. Can't you bring me something from home – something you've cooked?"

"Nice try – but no prize, kiddo. Don't forget, I've known you since you were in diapers. Heck, I used to change your diapers."

"Don't remind me. Really – please don't remind me. It's kind of embarrassing. Especially since I've been getting bed baths for the past couple of days. I've no dignity left at all." Marty flashed what he hoped was a winning smile. "Just a sandwich, Caroline. Something real easy like that. Please?"

"There's a perfectly good sandwich sitting there on the tray," she pointed out.

"If you think it's so great, why don't you help yourself," Marty suggested, knowing full well she would refuse. As sandwiches go, it was particularly unappetising and was it certainly not going anywhere his mouth.

Caroline heaved a martyred sigh and pulled a Tupperware container out of capacious bag. "Go on, then. It's a good thing I know what a bad patient you are and will pander to your pathetic demands, that's all I can say. But it's only because I don't want to have to sit here and listen to you whimpering." She looked at him and shook her head. "The sooner you can put a t-shirt on, the better. I can count all your ribs from over here. It's a good job I only brought enough food for one, because the sight of you is enough to put anyone of their dinner." Caroline was still finding it hard to cope with the shock of seeing her boy seriously injured and just knowing what lay underneath those pristine dressings was enough to turn her stomach.

"Thanks. I love you too." Funnily enough, even though he'd been starving, after only a couple of bites of the sandwich, Marty found he wasn't hungry any more. "If they don't let me out tomorrow, I think I'll discharge myself," he volunteered.

"What a good idea. And I suppose you'll go back to that lonely apartment of yours, eh?" Sometimes Caroline thought he didn't have the sense he was born with. But she knew better than to voice outright opposition. There was no better way to make Marty to do something than to tell him he couldn't.

"I've not exactly been overwhelmed by visitors here, have I?" And that hurt. Despite his best efforts not to let it affect him, it still hurt. Sure, he wasn't a part of the tight-knit NCIS team, he was just a temp, on loan as it were – but they'd been on a joint operation and Marty had thought that might have made a difference. He'd been moved out of the critical unit 36 hours ago and none of them had even put their heads around the door. And every time he heard the click of heels coming along the corridor he'd perked up, hoping it would be Kensi – only it never was. "Anyway, I'm bored. And I'd rather be bored at home."

"Only it's not home, is it?" Caroline asked shrewdly. "When are you going to come home and start living your life again, Marty? Can't you put Max Gentry into the past and start to move on?" He'd said very little about that undercover operation, but Caroline knew how deeply it had scarred her boy. She wondered why he insisted on leading this life, with all its attendant risks and hoped it was not because it provided the perfect excuse for not settling down and leading a normal life, accepting the past and moving on to the future.

"When I'm ready, I guess. And I'm not quite there yet. For a moment, I thought there was someone who might help me get passed all that mess, but I was wrong. Again. I guess you're the only woman who knows who I really am and still loves me." Oh God, how maudlin and pathetic did that sound? It must be the drugs. Either that or the daytime soaps were starting to rot his brain. Today had been so bad that he'd even watched an old episode of _Emergency!_ And, which was worse, he'd actually started to enjoy it. That was when Marty knew he had to get out of this place, before he lost whatever semblance of sanity he still had left.

"Maybe you haven't found the right woman yet, but she is out there." Caroline moved to sit on the side of the bed and took him in her arms, just as she had done so many times when he was a little boy. "I promise you, Marty. One day you'll find her."

Marty buried his head in her shoulder, breathing in the familiar perfume. "Do you promise?"

_What if I already have? What if I found her and I let her slip away because I was do determined to play stupid games? What if I've let the best thing that ever happened to me slip away?_

"When did I ever lie to you?"

"There was that time when I was six and you told me that if I picked a guinea pig up by its tail its eyes would fall out."

Caroline hugged him closer. "You were a very gullible child."

"I still am. Tell me again how I'm going to find the woman of my dreams and live happily ever after? But I'm still going home tomorrow. I mean it."

"I know you do. And what about the rest – like this new job?"

Marty gave a one-sided shrug, mindful of the metal pins that were holding his shoulder together. The doctors had cautioned him that he would probably set off the metal detectors at airports, which was kind of cool, in a mildly repulsive sort of way. "It's going to be a while until I'm passed as fit for duty, and LAPD have indicated they need me to run one final undercover operation so… I guess that's it. I'm not exactly sorry, but it could have been fun, if things had been different."

_Because for one moment, I thought that this was it. That I'd finally found what I've been looking for – a job with incredible back-up and people with amazing skills, not to mention a partner with more moves than a tiger on Vaseline. For just one moment, I thought I'd found that woman I've been looking for. Only I was wrong. But that's life. And you either suck it up, or you let it suck you up._

Caroline knew what he wasn't saying and she wished that just for once things could go right for Marty. He deserved that much, after all he'd been through. "I'm so sorry, darling."

"Yeah, me too."

* * *

><p><em>Okay – we're near<em>_ly there! Next chapter will be the last one – I promise. _


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen: Fame: Could It Be The Best?**

Marty lay flat on his back and stared up at his reflection in the large mirror with a disgusted expression on his face. If hospital had been boring, this was even worse. At least the hospital had the added attraction of nurses, even if it never seemed to be the pretty ones who were assigned to bed bath duty. He wondered if that was deliberate scheduling, and reckoned it probably must be, especially when they were dealing with patients recovering from heart attacks or strokes. Maybe they even had a whole special set of less-than-attractive nurses for that purpose. There was no sense in tempting fate, after all. Luckily he'd been unconscious when they put that catheter in. There were some things you definitely didn't want to know about. He wondered vaguely how they practised doing that and if they ever got it wrong.

_Oh God. How do you know if it's damaged you? It's this great big long tube and it goes where nothing's supposed to go, after all. I mean everything seems to be working normally when I'm peeing, but what if, next time I'm with a girl and it all goes wrong and I can't get it up?_

And of course, the more he thought about it, the less likely the chances were that Marty was going to find out, the human body being funny like that. He pulled his knees up protectively and glared up at himself.

"If the wind changes, your face will stay like that." The voice seemed to come out of nowhere and Marty was just relieved he hadn't been caught in a compromising position.

"How the hell did you get in?" The door was locked – double-locked and with a dead-bolt to boot.

"Lock-picking 101. I'll teach you when you get back." Kensi settled herself comfortably on the bed and turned her head to see what he was looking at. "Kinky."

"It's a rented apartment," Marty protested.

"Well, duh! Of course it is. It's not like you could afford something like this on a cop's salary, is it?" She rolled over onto her back and wriggled a bit so that they were lying side by side, staring up at themselves. "I missed you."

"Yeah right. You missed me so much you couldn't stay away. No, wait a minute – all that time I was in the hospital, you stayed away. You all did."

"Don't pout, it's not very adult." Kensi turned over and propped herself up on her elbows so that she could look at him properly. Marty wondered if she was ever going to lie still and thought that sleeping with her, actually sleeping, rather than making love, would be like being on a roller coaster. "And I did come, actually. Only they booted me out. Only Hetty got past the dragon on the doorway."

"They let Hetty in? She saw me?" That was more than a little disturbing – the thought of Hetty standing at his bedside, with God-knows what thoughts going through her devious little mind.

"And Callen. But not me. Which bummed me out. Seriously." Kensi nudged him gently, taking care not to bang his injured shoulder. "You do believe me?"

"If you say so." Marty knew he was sounding petulant, but he really couldn't help it. It was either that or grab hold of her and… only that wouldn't work. Not with his bum shoulder and a penis that had probably been internally mangled beyond all possibility of working again by some student nurse with sadistic tendencies. Knowing his luck, he was probably nevver going to get a hard-on again. In which case they might just have let him die back at the Darva house.

"I do say so. And then Vance stuck us on the dumb case and we had to go all the way up to Ukiah. Have you ever been to Ukiah? No? Well don't bother, because you've not missed anything. Take my word for it." Kensi knew she was babbling and she couldn't seem to stop herself. "I really wanted to be with you. I still do. Why else do you think I'm here, you idiot?"

"Sticks and stones will break my bones…" He couldn't help smiling at her. Suddenly things seemed a whole lot better.

Kensi wriggled closer and bent her head. "They already have." She dropped a feather-light kiss onto his shoulder. "You scared the fuck out me, Deeks." Her voice shuddered slightly.

"Maybe we can sort that out?" Marty realised he wasn't going to have any problems at all in getting an erection. None at all.

"But it would be so awkward when we have to work together again." Kensi dropped a series of kisses across his chest and then ran her tongue slowly around his nipple.

"LAPD want me back for another op."

"That's a pity." She raised her head and stared into his eyes. "We might never see each other again."

"True enough. So we'd better make the most of this, hadn't we?" Marty tried to take her in his arms, but only succeeded in giving a sharp yelp as his shoulder reminded him that it had recently been screwed back together again.

"Lie back and leave all the rest to me. There's nothing like a hot, naked, wounded guy to turn me on. You do have a remarkably great body, you know." She was remarkably adept at removing clothes, Marty realised – her own and his.

He grinned happily at her, and saw their reflections in the mirror and thought how bloody perfect they looked together, lying completely naked on the bed. "You've done this before, haven't you, Kensi?"

"With you – just once. But it was memorable."

"Wasn't it just?" And she felt even better than he remembered: warm and soft and the things her tongue was doing were beyond incredible. "You do realise we'll probably never see each other again?"

"One last time, then." She straddled his hips and held herself poised there for a second, watching as he tried to contain himself.

"For the good times, Kensi?" Marty felt as if he was going to explode and suddenly he was surrounded by her and it was even better than he had ever imagined.

And she smiled at him and agreed. "For the good times."

_Only I don't have to make believe. Because I do love you._

**THE END**

_I had to let it end happily, because slushy bunny says he is still traumatised by the ending of Comes A Time. And because I kind of reckon they are pretty much meant to be together._

_Anyway - I hope you liked this sideways excursion into my K/D universe._

**_And _**

_Cue the drum roll_

_Coming soon to a computer near you: episode 8 - The Chain.  
>Because there might just be a little more to write about that whole episode on the freeway outside Camp Pendleton.<em>


End file.
